


A Brother's Devotion

by coudric



Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, Brothers, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2020-06-25 05:17:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 55,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19739083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coudric/pseuds/coudric
Summary: Hashirama knew that he didn't have any brothers anymore. He had watched them all being buried, after all. And yet, here was this boy, resembling his dead infant brother so much- (if it weren't for those flickering tomoes.)For Madara, there existed two worlds. One which he was living in now and one which he had experienced through his sharingan. Both were similar and yet different, and tainting his every step. (Accidental birth into the wrong clan didn't make that Demon his brother.)Izuna may not hold any love for his freakish twin, but he was still his and those greedy Senju savages needed to stop taking from them. (There wasn't much left, anyway.)





	1. I.

**Author's Note:**

> My first "Naruto" story in ages, with a slightly experimental style. I'm a bit rusty but let's see where this goes. And whether anyone's interested! :)

**I.**

The first time Hashirama had watched a brother ( _his first little brother_ ) being buried, it hadn’t been due to the blade of an enemy.

It had still been war that took him.

The curse of war. The curse of grieving mothers and vengeful siblings and of restless souls having departed too soon.

Father shouldn’t have given in to the Elders’ insistences; mother would scream afterward, loud and shrill and for everyone in the Senju compound to hear. Shouldn’t have agreed to let those children pass through their lands just to have them hunted and killed and left the broken bodies to be found by their families and trying to blame the Hagoromo. It was despicable. It disgusted allies and enemies alike. It caused retaliation.

It had angered the kami.

Hashirama couldn’t remember if the curse had struck farther than his family.

But he could still remember what his brother had looked like ( _white and red and odd_ ), could still hear the sound of his delighted laughter when hearing his silly Anija sing ( _light and sweet and so, so precious_ ). It was strange how he could remember all that of a brother who died without a name ( _mother and father had refused to_ -) but Kawarama and Itama were slippery images he could barely cling to. The flora had sung then too, after the birth. Songs inspired by Hashirama’s wonder and love.

He had breathed and his heart had beaten, and his eyes had fluttered, when Hashirama had held him. And his eyes had shut closed and his heart had stopped, and he hadn’t been breathing, when in Hashirama’s arms.

It had been the first burial he had attended. The first time his world had shattered. Shattered in such a way that he had never stopped feeling like he was walking barefoot on shards, each step an agony. Something to get used to.

No one had been sad because the _babe_ was dead. They had been devastated because the babe had been deformed and strange and cursed. Relieved that it was taken as quickly from this world as it had appeared. Scared that more such children would follow.

Hashirama had never understood scathing resentment before that.

And he had sat in front of that tiny, barely noticeable grave, long after, day after day, crying and angry and hurt, and _begged_.

( _Give me back my brother and I’ll protect children from war. No more senseless murders. No more fighting_.)

The kami weren’t that kind.

He lost two more brothers.

And another a brother in everything but blood. A kindred spirit whom he had trusted. Dreamed and hoped with. Was betrayed by. ( _And they weren’t kindred, not really, were they, because Madara still had brothers and Hashirama didn’t._ )

No one wanted peace. They wanted to fight and kill and avenge generations’ old blood.

They wanted to create more Kawaramas and Itamas and nameless infants, and more Hashiramas.

Hashirama closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Somewhere behind him, he could hear men shuffle around earth as they finally, _finally_ buried his father. Unfortunately, alongside too many other clansmen, all of whom added to the heavy, suffocating smell of death lingering in their lands. Having taken Uchiha Tajima’s head seemed like such a small compensation. When he looked down where he was crouched, his hand was still hovering over the grave of his little brother ( _the first_ ).

It didn’t matter now, did it? He was clan head ( _too young, too inexperienced_ , they would whisper, but never to his face). He was alone. He was tired. He was furious.

They had taken his brothers and he had still begged for peace. Begged his own clan, the Uchiha, everyone. Ridicule was the answer. The slaughter of his people was the answer.

Fine.

He stood in one fluid movement and turned his back on that elevated patch of earth now littered with yellow and white chrysanthemums. The song they were humming one that had lulled him into sleep throughout his childhood.

If the clans wanted war, he would bring war upon them.

If everyone wanted to avenge blood that had been spilled generations ago, then why should he refrain?

The world hadn't yet bled for his brothers. He would make it bleed and have peace grow from the fertilized soil.

* * *

Hashirama frowned annoyed as he stepped into another puddle of blood. In the distance, he could still hear the sounds of swords clashing. _Madara will be upset_ , he thought as he took in the dead bodies of Uchiha and Hagoromo and Inuzukas and their dogs ( _shouldn’t have broken their neutrality, now, should they_ ) littered in the streets. His once friend must have been mad, though, or desperate if he thought there was any place within Hi no Kuni where he could carve a safe haven for his people. If he couldn’t trust in his own lands, he couldn’t trust anyone else’s.

He shouldn’t have brought neutral parties into their conflict, either.

But if Madara were fully sane, he wouldn’t have his clan die slowly in an imbalanced war simply because of his pride, would he?

( _Sanity was a luxury anyway_.)

Sometimes, he wondered what this war would look like if Madara were less cautious. It might have ended a lot sooner, probably. But Madara was a fool who had still a lot to lose and his foolhardy was just dragging out the inevitable. Not that Hashirama minded.

From across the deserted marketplace at the end of the alley, perched high on a roof like death itself preying on the battlefield, he caught the questioning tilt of Touka’s head. He acknowledged it with a wry smile and a careless shrug of his shoulders. After all, he didn’t know why exactly he was intruding her domain.

The pollen had been whispering insistently into his ears, though. Ever since the first blood was drawn, they had been pushing him toward this village, excited and eager. He was curious. Rarely had he ever witnessed his flora acting up like this.

A body flew past him just as he was about to round a corner. His gaze was tuck on thick droplets spilling into the air. ( _Clear. Not blood._ )

He turned his chin to his left, intrigued.

The next exhale of breath got stuck in his throat, blocked by a painful lump too large to swallow. The earth under his feet hummed, pleased, while his world shook.

White. Red. White and red.

The pollen had stopped their whispering and all Hashirama heard was an incessant buzzing drowning out everything else.

( _But they had buried him. They had._ )

The boy ( _ghostghostghost_ ) blinked and swirling tomoes fixated on Hashirama. And he blinked and they vanished. And appeared. And vanished.

His eyes were bleeding.

( _The dead stay dead. The kami are not kind._ )

The boy’s right side was soaked in blood, Hashirama noticed. One arm was hanging in the well which he was using for support. The other lowering just now, the signs he must have formed dissipating. His face was contorted by the terror of a child not wanting to die.

Maybe Hashirama had lost his last thread of sanity.

Maybe he was dreaming.

Or maybe he wasn’t as immune to his plants’ poison as he believed.

They both remained frozen where they were, just watching. The deafening barks of a grieving dog had the boy flinch out of his stupor, grimacing as he aggravated his injury. Or injuries, there might be more hidden away.

“Aniki says that you used to be kind,” he rasped, each word shaking with exhaustion or fear. He still managed to sound strangely deadpan. “So. Be kind enough to kill me quickly.”

And Hashirama’s world shook for a second time that day.

He found himself on one knee in front of the boy, fixated on the white and red and the paleness of his skin and the flickering tomoes. Something uncoiled deep in the pit of his stomach, sudden and all consuming.

This boy had the sharingan. A broken version, perhaps, yet the sharingan nonetheless. He so obviously _was_ -

But white and red and odd. Those trademarks were peculiar. And the flora was singing a song so familiar it burnt the shattered pieces of his heart to ashes.

Killing in war, Hashirama could understand. Not forgive but understand.

Yet _. Stealing_ -

( _He died. He was buried. Impossible. Impossible. Impossible._ )

Hashirama, in all of his young life, had felt a lot.

Despair. Love. Happiness. Loss. Pain. Resentment.

He had never felt such raw, maddening hatred.

( _Even nightmares were not cruel enough to have his brothers call another ‘aniki’._ )

( _How **dare** the Uchiha_.)


	2. II.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went off to a little vacation after posting the first chapter so the positive response to it was a nice surprise! I appreciate all the comments and kudos, thank you :) 
> 
> For this chapter... Let's dig into the mess that are the Uchiha and their thoughts.

**II.**

When Madara’s sharingan had stirred for the first time ( _showing, image upon image of a life that wasn’t his, yet it was_ ), his world became _wrong_.

It turned into something supposedly past. Yet, wasn’t truly the past he had seen. Experienced.

The core of both his lives was all the same. He was still an Uchiha. His father’s heir. A prodigy. They were warring with the Senju. Children died. Brothers died.

But there were differences. Some small, some big, a few glaring differences strewn everywhere. It had been an intriguing game, back then, to pick them out. Intriguing and terrifying because different meant he couldn’t predict what might happen and that left room for failure. He had failed too many times to count.

Hashirama was a difference intend on crushing him body, mind and soul. ( _Maybe not that different, maybe the other one had also been unhinged, held together by a last little brother and dreams of peace_.) It was too easy to forget, though, that Hashirama didn’t simply become this way, mad and blood thirsty, out of the blue. That he had been the kindest person Madara had ever met, once. That there were reasons.

Not that it justified anything.

It definitely did nothing to quench the rage simmering in Madara’s veins, tinted with the slightest hint of terror.

“Not a single survivor?”

The messenger dipped his head even lower, his scarred forehead lightly touching the stones littered around the koi pond. “As far as we’re aware, no.” He hesitated, spine going stiff. “About your brother though…”

( _He’s not, he’s not, never._ )

Yet, another stark difference from his memories.

Izuna had been born late.

Izuna hadn’t been born _alone_.

“What about him?”

His mouth tasted like ash. It always did when he burnt down the instinctive denial of that boy being his brother ( _he isn’t supposed to be_ ). Truly, it was such a mockery by whoever had designed this particular world. An abhorrent, disgusting mockery. Madara didn’t even remember what it had been like before the sharingan had yet to open his eyes. Had he managed to do more than just tolerate that Oni of the Senju clothed in Uchiha name? ( _He had nothing Uchiha to him, from looks, to affinity, to passion, nothing except a weak, twisted manifestation of the sharingan._ ) Had he considered that brat on equal parts to his actual brothers?

The mere thought had his skin prickle uncomfortably.

And yet… there was nothing more important than family. Not to an Uchiha. Not to Madara. Never had been. Not even dreams of peace or a childhood friend with the same soul as his.

“He was nowhere,” the messenger was saying, voice terse. “He was sent with the group, but we didn’t find h- anything.”

It was _so_ hard to reconcile his burning desire to protect and love his family with the bitter hatred rooted in a life that hadn’t really been his.

Madara hummed in acknowledgement. “I see. Dismissed.”

He waited for the other man to leave before leaning over the pond to stare at his own face contorted into a guilty, bitter grimace.

A whole delegation eradicated. The Hagoromo side, as well. That had been expected even if not this quickly. ( _Anticipated or not, it still made him sick_.) The Inuzukas who had been willing to listen to their sham requests about granting refuge… he couldn’t believe how easily this had worked out. Apart from their one missing ( _not dead_ ) shinobi, of course. There had to be a catch somewhere, right? Or maybe there really wasn't.

His clan had been reduced to a pathetic number, Madara was loath to admit. They were dying, slowly and painfully, and it wouldn’t stop. _Hashirama_ wouldn’t stop. Not for as long as Madara kept up his defiance.

But even admitting defeat could not guarantee his people’s safety, could it? Madara had watched, after all, as his father had laid down his weapons at Hashirama’s feet and still had his throat cut in half, right then and there. ( _But father provoked, did he not, shouldn’t have accepted outside help and massacre-_ ) He had heard, after all, of the Hagoromo defectors submitting and being rewarded with gruesome deaths. Hashirama hadn’t even spared the Senju’s closest allies for hesitating to send forces to his aid although, the details of their fate were a mystery – no one had heard of the Uzumaki ever since.

There simply was no certainty that his clan would be spared in any way. That Izuna would live.

Madara wasn’t able to beat Hashirama. He had tried. Oh, how much he had tried. Only to deflect, to escape with wounds one worse than the other, the latest still throbbing painfully across his abdomen. Direct combat was useless. He hadn’t risked it recently – it didn’t matter how cowardly the elders thought he was, or how terrified the children were of his weakness. It slowed down the end. Gave him time to think. To plot.

He wasn’t proud of what they had done. The idea hadn’t even come from him but whether in this world or the one in his head, _that_ boy had always had a shrewd disposition and a mind too sharp for anyone’s comfort. Yet… Madara had still ordered a dozen of his people to march to their deaths and condemned their oblivious allies and an even more oblivious neutral party alongside. All for the fleeting hope of finally, _finally_ gaining the daimyo’s attention. The Inuzuka were most loyal vassals and that village a central meeting point between ambassadors; in fact, that night the Inuzuka were housing a delegation from Tetsu no Kuni – did Hashirama’s dogs even realize that?

The daimyo might have refused to acknowledge the insanity that had taken the Senju clan and was ravaging Hi no Kuni up until now. But even he couldn’t keep ignoring this – the fact that Hashirama didn’t spare anyone he considered a threat, no matter who they were and where they resided.

Despite all this reasoning, it disgusted him to what kind of desperation Hashirama had reduced him to.

But he couldn’t risk losing Izuna. ( _He’d sacrifice the world for him_.)

( _The White Oni wasn’t supposed to be a sacrifice_.)

“A bird tells me the freak’s disappeared.”

Madara exhaled slowly. Leaned back so he didn’t have to look at his own face anymore. Waited until Izuna perched down next to him, not looking at him, unruly bangs obscuring his eyes. He wondered, not for the first time, what Izuna actually meant when saying _freak_. Actually freak? Brother? It was strange how he couldn’t tell whether it was an insult or an endearment.

“And what else has that bird of yours told you?”

“That the Senju Plant Monster was there too.”

Madara paused, almost choking on his next breath. What the-?! No one had mentioned that to him in any of the reports. Did they not know? If true, then this was beyond odd. Senju Touka had led the attack and Hashirama never bothered with something once he had entrusted it to his cousin. Why would he now? He couldn’t have suspected something, could he? They still feasted on a banquet of corpses which wouldn’t make sense if Hashirama had been suspecting foul play. But would Hashirama care even if he knew what they were up to?

( _He’d probably be delighted at the prospect of having caused more chaos, of toppling even more clans and countries._ )

And the boy had vanished the very same time Hashirama had been present.

Madara’s insides chilled uncomfortably.

“He’s not dead,” Izuna said, tone light as if he were talking about the weather. “We’d have found a body already if he were. He wouldn’t defect. Which means that they captured him, most likely.” He hummed, fingers reaching forward to gently wade through the water. “And there are only so many reasons to capture an enemy. To gain a valuable hostage. To extract information. To have someone to fu-”

“Izuna!”

His brother stilled and tilted his head in Madara’s direction, peering at him.

Madara pressed his mouth into a grim line. Of course, war had matured Izuna beyond his years. But he was still a _kid_. He shouldn’t know about such things, not like this, as if he understood perfectly well what he was saying.

( _Shouldn’t talk so callously about someone affiliated to them, brother or not._ )

Quietly, curiously Izuna asked, “Are you worried?”

“I’m a lot of things right now,” Madara hissed. Furious, anguished, desperate. He didn’t know whether he was worried for someone whom he couldn’t bear to look at or not. “For one, if they captured him, they have a sharingan.” ( _A living, useful one._ )

Izuna snorted. “Even if they knew how to steal it, what use is a broken sharingan to anyone? It would be amusing, though.”

Had he been like this in the memories, as well? In that other life? Had Izuna been this morbid? This deprecative about everything? He had had more color to him, that much Madara was sure of- quicker to anger, more spiteful, more sincere. Having shared a womb with the Oni had clearly left its marks. ( _He was still Izuna, sweet and mischievous and caring._ )

“Your sense of humor is disturbing, little brother.”

“The mental image _is_ funny,” Izuna insisted, a teasing lilt to his voice. “Can you imagine those Senju with red eyes?” ( _I’ve already seen_.) “And getting killed by them.”

Which was more likely than anything else if they did try to steal the eyes. Those defect curses didn’t spare their owner the excruciating pain of a slow demise without dying, they would tear apart anyone else. But Madara doubted that the Senju were after the sharingan. They could have captured many a Uchiha for that purpose over the years. Why now? Why _him_?

Why on the day Hashirama had interfered?

This world’s Hashirama had never had that last little brother, after all. Madara would know. So, _why_?

( _Did he remember, did he know, was it just mercy?_ )

“We’ll have to do something.”

He couldn’t just sit still while those Senju savages _stole_ his-

( _Not my brother, no, but still mine, right?_ )

“Maybe your birds would like to fly out.”

“Seriously?” Izuna couldn’t hide his surprise, mouth hanging open ever so slightly.

Madara sighed. He didn’t want to – keeping Izuna as far away from Hashirama as possible had been crucial in keeping his little brother alive for so long. But Izuna’s spying abilities were unparalleled and Madara _needed to know_. “Yes.”

Izuna didn’t smile, as he had expected him to, nor did he look exhilarated or excited. He just nodded solemnly, eyes dark and contemplative and vicious. Madara frowned thoughtfully. “Are _you_ worried?”

His brother stood up, patting off dirt from his loose yukata. Not sparing another glance toward Madara, lost somewhere in his own mind. “We’re twins,” he said as if that explained anything. And left before Madara could have asked.

Twins.

( _He had jerked back then, after the sharingan, when refusing to let go of Izuna, making sure he was alive and well, and those pale fingers had tentatively reached toward Izuna in his arms, brushing against the back of his hand; those fingers had had blood on them, once, Izuna’s blood, and he’d be damned-_ )

They weren’t particularly close. Not like Madara and Izuna were or like their other brothers had been with them ( _except Sora, sweet and gentle, too much love to spare- he died first; and Yakumi somewhat, his protective side too strong, dragging him to his death_ ). Far from it. But who was, really? Until this day, Madara hadn’t figured out why his father hadn’t strangled the infant upon birth, gotten rid of it like he usually did with anything imperfect. Damaged. Cursed. It might have been the eyes, he supposed. Did you get rid of something clearly cursed or did you cherish it because it possessed revered symbols? His whole clan had never figured it out. ( _Stay away, let him shadow you_.)

But Izuna… Madara wasn’t blind. Could see the blatant possessive streak his little brother had for his odd twin.

He didn’t understand it, though. There certainly was no love lost between the two, not on Izuna’s end. ( _He’s always followed his aniki’s approach, hasn’t he?_ ) And yet…

Madara grabbed a stone and threw it across the pond blindly, letting the familiar splashing sound sooth his cackling nerves. It didn’t help much. Izuna was going to do something stupid, he could sense it and he did not like it.

* * *

The daimyo was unsettled. Tetsu no Kuni enraged. The other neutral clans on edge. There were murmurs and fears and terror spreading among the civilians.

Izuna, eyes still closed, spread wide and far, _seeing_ , smiled bitterly. A vicious, ugly part of his couldn’t help but be smug. Pleased.

For so long, most had kept out of this war. It was between the Senju and Uchiha, they would say. Not our problem. Clearly, they had been wrong. This conflict hadn’t been only between their two clans (mainly, yes, only, no), never, nor were the Inuzuka the first to have been dragged into it. The mad God of the Senju was thirsty and not even Hi no Kuni might have enough blood to quench said thirst.

But they had ignored the problem for so long that it might be too late by now.

Not for the first time, Izuna wondered whether his brother’s plan would work. ( _Maybe not but the freak’s plans rarely failed, did they?_ ) Getting the daimyo involved, other clans, another _country_ … It was a gamble, depended on too many uncertain factors. And hadn’t it been the daimyo’s involvement that tipped over the balance, to begin with? Stirred this ruthlessness and ever-increasing power lust of Senju Hashirama?

They might be giving that mad man the perfect opportunity to just erase any illusion of boundaries and laws, to get rid of the daimyo and change Hi no Kuni’s power structure for good. Izuna hated that he was so certain of the Senju being capable of such a feat. But desperate times, right? They could only hope that outnumbering the Senju and their allies would be enough to end this madness. To survive.

News from the lands around were secondary, though. The Senju had what he was looking for, or rather traces of it.

An odd fit of madness they were calling their clan head’s strange interest in the boy ( _spirit, some said, Shinigami, others thought_ ) he picked up from a dead ( _murdered_ ) village. It had them unsettled, most of them, at least, for Senju Touka ignored any such talks. They didn’t know that they had someone closely related to Uchiha Madara in their grasp. They didn’t even seem to realize he was an Uchiha. And wasn’t that strange?

Izuna had no doubt that Hashirama knew perfectly well whom he was holding captive. But why hide it from his own people? Why seclude them both from the rest of the group, keep the enemy so close to himself? Feed him, heal him?

Maybe he honestly believed to have gained a valuable hostage whom he could use to force the Uchiha’s submission ( _not that he needed to_ ). Would Madara falter if Hashirama were to put forth a condition involving his newest hostage? Izuna didn’t know and that had his stomach churn uncomfortably. He knew his aniki so well, usually. Not when it came to his twin, though, and he despised being in the dark.

( _He remembers a time when aniki would sit at a sickbed for days, scold him for being too demanding, make Sora-nii read to a delirious boy because his voices were the best, fight father not to send him to battle-_

_and more vividly when he would lock away a terrified boy as punishment for something petty, ignoring the cries, blame him for surviving when the others did not, would forbid Izuna to get close_ -)

He also couldn’t determine what he would want Madara to do. Family came first. But it was the freak – he was _different_. Different in a way that had always had Izuna’s senses on high alert ( _when younger, before understanding, he used to be scared of the demon rabbit hovering close but from a distance, sometimes demanding his brothers’ attentions needlessly, and getting older that fear turned into some form of resentment because-_ )

Izuna couldn’t care less about the elders considering him the kami’s curse upon them or their shinobi thinking his disease ( _if there was any_ ) would kill them if they got close or people believing him to be mad because of his obsession with strange experiments. What he cared about was Madara and how the freak caused him pain ( _he didn’t understand, never had, but he saw it, the pain, the fear, the worry and it hurt, hurt, hurt_ ) by merely existing.

He would burn down the world before seeing his older brother brought low.

But he knew Hashirama, not as well as Madara did, but well enough. And as much as that man enjoyed playing games, Izuna didn’t think he was keeping the freak as a hostage. He would have shared that information with someone by now, wouldn’t he?

Izuna opened his eyes to a dark room, the noises of wings flapping in howling wind slowly ebbing away. Exhaustion laid heavily in his limbs as it always did when he decided to _look_ with his birds. His mind, on the other hand, wouldn’t stop whirring.

Just what was Senju Hashirama trying to achieve? He couldn’t be interested in the sharingan nor was this a hostage situation. Why the fuck was he then so focused on Izuna's stupid twin? Why was he keeping him alive and tending to him yet not telling anyone about his motives? Whatever his interest in his captive was, could they _use_ it to their own advantage? Would they get the chance to?

Izuna had prayed, many years ago. When Sora-nii had taken a hit for he freak, when Shisui-nii had died from a poison induced fever which the weakest one of them had survived, when Inabi had been sent back to fetch the healer remaining at the compound because the wounded needed him more than one sickly boy, when Yakumi-nii had taken that mission in someone else’s stead – Izuna had prayed.

( _Please, take the rabbit demon instead, let my brothers live._ )

No one had listened.

They died, one by one, strong and weak, their whole clan.

And yet, the one who hadn’t been supposed to make it past his first night in this world still remained. Death had come for him, time and again, knocked but never entered, never took, just left.

It wasn’t fair.

Izuna laid down on the hard floor and stared up, the dark contours of an ugly dragon staring back down to him. ( _Sora-nii had scratched the form into the roof and Yakumi-nii had lit it up with his katon, trying to cheer up someone who might have just been blind through his bleeding eyes_.)

Izuna had tried to get rid of him and the kami had refused him for whichever reason, repeatedly. He would refuse Hashirama the same.

If death had denied to take his freak, who was fucking Senju Hashirama to try?


	3. III.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things I do instead of studying for important exams...

**III.**

The boy was an odd thing.

He didn’t look anything like an Uchiha. ( _His otouto hadn’t looked anything like a Senju._ ) He didn’t behave like one, either – at least, nothing like those Hashirama had met. They usually preferred death over being taken captive, either hiding away poison behind their teeth or finding other creative ways to kill themselves. They had a violent disposition, would curse and scream and fume. The boy, though, hadn’t struggled much when Hashirama had grabbed him. Just stayed stiff and tensed in his arms, eyes closed the whole way. He had startled once, when Hashirama’s hand had soothed over the wound in his side.

Touka’s delegation was unsettled.

They thought him to be a spirit of some sort, something their clan head had picked up from among a dead village in a fit of curious madness. Nothing good would come from it.

Hashirama had opted to move ahead of them, open camp at a distance where he could still see them but didn’t have to bother with their foolish fears. He could have told them, of course, that this was someone related to Uchiha Madara ( _he refused to acknowledge such a relation_ ) and not a spirit. But he knew his clansmen who had no love to spare for any Uchiha, and he wouldn’t want to make the boy’s stay with them uncomfortable in any way or form. His connection to the Uchiha was irrelevant now, nor did it have anything to do with Hashirama's decision to keep him.

One of the young ones, Takumi barely sixteen on his first mission, had brought dinner and left in a rush, stumbling over his own feet in the process. Hashirama put the still warm fish rolls in between himself and the quiet boy and waited for his guest to take one. He didn’t know what the kid liked, and they didn’t have many options here, but fish rolls had been Itama’s favorites. ( _Sweet, little Itama who had dyed half his hair in white to ease his Anija’s pain over a dead infant otouto with white hair._ )

“It’s not poisoned,” he eventually said. “What would be the point?”

“What’s the point in feeding a captive?” the boy retorted scathingly.

Hashirama stared at him then, took in the slender form, remembered how rather short he was ( _he couldn't be that young if he was going out on missions, right?_ ) and how light he had been in his arms. “Maybe I simply think that you need to be fed.”

The boy didn’t say anything to that, nor did he make any move to take the food.

“What’s your name?” Hashirama asked into the silence. He liked hearing the other’s voice and he was oh so curious. “You obviously are not Izuna.” That particular brother of Madara’s he had met a few times, after all. So alike to Madara in looks but more cunning, with a more vicious side to him.

Back then, at the Naka river, they had used to talk a lot about their brothers. Hashirama had always thought that Madara had only one left, though. And he was sure he wasn’t remembering it wrongly – Madara had never mentioned having more than one left. ( _Why, why, why? What was he missing?_ )

For a long moment, he thought that he wouldn’t get a reply. Then, lowly, almost shyly, “…Tobirama.”

( _Itama. Kawarama. Hashirama._ )

Hashirama tried and failed to swallow the sudden lump of emotions sitting heavily his throat.

Uncertainly, he rubbed over his chest where his heart ached. “That’s not a typical Uchiha name, is it?” The boy ( _Tobirama, Tobi_ ) flinched, just a little twitch but Hashirama had been watching. An idea raised its head from among his whirring thoughts, rising and shaping into form. ( _Could it be that simple, such a smooth path for him to walk? The kami were being very generous._ ) “It sounds more like a Senju one. There is a specific pattern we use to name members of the main branch. My name, Hashirama. And my brothers’- Kawarama and Itama. Yours would fit right in, wouldn’t it?”

Tobirama’s eyes flew open at that, wide and disbelieving and _pained_. There was a sudden spike in his almost exhausted chakra, the vibrations of it hitting Hashirama where his legs were connected to the ground, violently so. Tobirama’s shoulders hunched up and he lowered his gaze to his lap where his hands were clawing at each other, crumbling in on himself. There was something frantic to him, something unsettling that had Hashirama’s hackles raised. This particular spot seemed to be more vulnerable than Hashirama had initially realized.

“But… Aniki…?” He wasn’t talking to Hashirama anymore, but his voice sounded so _hurt_ -

Hashirama reached forward to engulf those hands in his own to stop them from breaking skin, tightened his grip only when Tobirama tried to break away. The kid was breathing heavily and too quickly, and his pupils were blown wide and unfocused. There was blood accumulating in the corners of his eyes, tomoes flickering wildly. Hesitating only for a second, Hashirama slid closer, careful not to disturb the food, nor to seem threatening. He closed his palm over Tobirama’s eyes and let the soothing coolness of his healing chakra flow from him to the boy.

What he _felt_ \- He almost, _almost_ reeled back in shock.

Something was _wrong_ with this sharingan.

“Does it hurt using it?”

Of course, it did. The evidence was in front of him, his chakra trying to repair broken tissues and damaged nerves but not sure where to start, what to focus on. It was so much. Raw and tender and bloodied. Every flicker of his sharingan tearing through another nerve. Could the boy even _see_? Hashirama furrowed his brows and focused. He couldn’t let himself be distracted and risk messing up and causing more damage.

“What… what are you doing?”

The struggling had ceased, but Tobirama was still stiff. His breathing eased more the longer Hashirama’s chakra seeped into him to work. When Hashirama removed his palm ( _had he ever felt this drained of chakra?_ ), it took Tobirama several moments before he tentatively opened his lids. His sharingan was turned off this time and the bleeding had stopped. Without thinking, Hashirama let his thumb wipe away the few bloody droplets that had been squeezed out earlier. He was pleased to note that Tobirama didn’t protest.

Tobirama scrunched up his nose in confusion, though ( _it was a cute look on him_ ). Couldn’t hide that shadow of wonderment yet. “Why are you so nice to me?” More defiantly, “I won’t tell you anything! And I’m not a valuable hostage!”

( _Aren’t you valuable to your ‘aniki’?_ ) “I don’t need information.” It wasn’t like the he didn’t have his own ways to obtain those. “You’re also not a hostage. I don’t plan on returning you, after all.”

Tobirama jerked back, and Hashirama didn’t stop him this time. Just watched panic and fear wrestling over his features as he scrambled backward on trembling hands and feet. “What do you mean?! You can’t just- let me go!”

“I can’t do that, I’m afraid.” And really, if he wasn’t a valuable hostage that meant he wouldn’t be missed, didn’t it? Whether true or not, it was his own claim. And Hashirama had seen the damage the sharingan had caused, wounds that had obviously been left to fester and would take a lot to heal, if at all. And he was so thin and looked sickly. Hashirama would take better care of him than those Uchiha cretins.

“Aniki will-”

“But you aren’t valuable, remember?” Hashirama cut him off, tone harsher than he had wanted. He had hit a nerve, judging from how Tobirama’s mouth snapped shut abruptly and his lips pressed into a thin, wobbling line. “I didn’t even know about you. Madara and I talked about everything, I can name each of his brothers and know how they died.” His lips were losing color. “But he has never mentioned you. _Are_ you even…?”

There was a wet sheen to Tobirama’s glassy eyes, but he didn’t cry. He might as well have been with how his chakra was roaring and- Hashirama hadn’t even known that he could taste someone’s pain through their chakra. But he could, it rested heavy and bitter on his tongue, had his stomach churn disgustingly with its sheer intensity.

“You know,” he said, slow and contemplative, diverting Tobirama’s attention from his growing pain. ( _It hurt so much_.) “I had a brother once. He looked just like you.” ( _White and red and precious._ )

Tobirama froze, face slipping into a mask of indifference. His chakra betrayed his emotions though. The fists at his sides shook. “No one looks like me.”

Hashirama smiled gently. “He did.”

He obviously didn’t believe Hashirama’s claim, but he was still curious. “What happened to him?”

Hashirama’s smile turned bitter. “He died. Not in battle, he was born weak.” ( _And had anyone really wanted to save him? Did they try hard enough?_ )

Tobirama had gone deathly silent, his suddenly gaze sharp tinted with confusion. “…weak?”

“He didn’t even have a name,” Hashirama continued, mind drifting. “Everyone thought he was cursed. They were _wrong_ , of course.”

“How would you know?” Tobirama wasn’t looking at him anymore, his voice a small and unsure whisper. “That they were wrong? He could have been cursed.”

“ _No_!” He ignored how Tobirama flinched back, ignored the violent roaring of his own chakra, ignored how Touka rose outside in alert. “He was perfect. He was my brother and I would have-” ( _Loved him, protected him, given him the world_.) He took a deep, calming breath, pinched the bridge of his nose, mentally scolding himself for the lack of control. It was hard, at times. So, so hard. “He was different, not cursed or wrong. As different as you.”

“You don’t even know me,” Tobirama huffed.

Hashirama shrugged, reached for the fish rolls at his side and placed them in Tobirama’s lap. “I’ll have time to get to know you, won’t I? Now, please, eat. I don’t want you to starve.”

Tobirama still wasn’t looking at him but he did hesitantly tap one of the rolls, lips pursed in confused displeasure. There was confusion and caution, but he wasn’t panicking anymore. And curious, he was definitely curious now. “I’m _not_ your brother.”

( _Who are you then if not, such coincidences, ridiculous, impossible._ )

Hashirama pretended not to have heard him.

* * *

Senju Hashirama wasn’t much like what Tobirama had expected him to be.

Ridiculously powerful, yes.

Even when not actively using it, Tobirama could feel the immense depth of his chakra and the power that was lying dormant within. It took a lot of self-control not to cower in the presence of it, his sensory skills doing him no favors in this regard, although he did have some experiences to draw from. His Aniki’s chakra was always so hot, crashing against his senses like an erupting volcano, violent and painful. Years of learning had taught him to withstand the oppressiveness ( _it had become a reassurance when danger lurked nearby and a torchlight when he strayed too far from home_ ) and yet, doing so still posed a challenge now.

The Senju was different from Aniki and so much more.

But the _kindness_ -

His eyes were too warm when looking at Tobirama ( _not even a hint of the monster he actually is_ ), the smiles swimming in his voice too sweet and too genuine ( _nothing cruel or mocking to them_ ), and his touches too loving, too gentle ( _not hurting_ ); he stomped down the pathetic part of himself that wanted to soak them in like a sponge would any drop of water, no matter how small.

Tobirama didn’t know what to think of it. ( _When was the last time anyone had made sure that he ate?_ ) He didn’t know what to think of any of this.

He couldn’t even believe that he was still alive.

The Senju didn’t show mercy, everyone said. And didn’t Tobirama know it best? He had needed every information he could get on them and their moves in order to help his clan survive; it was all he was good for. Even if he usually didn’t venture to the battlefields, pulling his strings in the shadows, he always knew what was going on. ( _Children the Senju spared. But he was no child, he had fought and killed before. He had condemned a whole village and innocents to a brutal death to ensure his clan's safety._ )

He had been so sure that he would die the moment Hashirama’s all-consuming chakra ( _unlike any other he had ever sensed_ ) had entered the edges of his consciousness. Had thought about his brothers then as dread numbed his limbs.

Izuna could be harsh and cruel with his words and kept him at a distance, but he needed Tobirama to rein him in ( _there was something unhinged about Izuna, something dark and endlessly cruel pulsating within him, and wasn’t it a twins’ duty to absorb that darkness and allow his brother to unwind so he could offer sweetness and joy to everyone else?_ ). Aniki, though. Aniki never looked at him unless Tobirama had something clever to suggest and even then, he could never mask how much it pained him to listen; but who would take care of all the little things for him? ( _his tea needed to be a specific temperature to allow him to relax and fall asleep, there needed to be smooth stones around the koi pond at all times for him to escape his worries once a while, Izuna needed to smile a lot to ease his heartache, he-_ )

Even now, afterward, Tobirama couldn’t help but wonder. How would his brothers react to the news of his death? Would they mourn? Tobirama liked to believe that they would, maybe when alone, when no one could see them grieving over the curse that had taken most of their family ( _for he did, the deaths of his other brothers had always been related to him in some form_ ). Maybe they would come to finally love him like they did each other and those already gone. Death might not have been that bad.

Maybe.

Yet.

Tobirama stared at the hand that had his own dwarfed in its grasp, blurry and wobbly as it was. It was calloused and warm. The last time anyone had held his hand had been when Sora-nii had ushered him to run faster through their infiltrated compound ( _but not fast enough, his legs too short, the paths suddenly unfamiliar with too many strangers crowding in on them._ )

He swallowed down that scorching memory and focused his gaze on their feet. It wasn’t his imagination as he had first believed when stepping into this strange forest; the grass was stiff and straight where Hashirama walked and little tremors wracked the earth in his wake. A sweet scent lingered in the musky air and leaves rustled when they passed, making it seem like every plant and tree and living being in these woods was coming alive. As if the flora was bowing in welcome for Hashirama.

How strange it was for mother nature to prostrate at the feet of a supposed monster. ( _But who was he to judge for he was cursed, and the water still embraced him._ )

The Senju hadn’t killed him.

_“I had a brother once. He looked just like you.”_

Tobirama almost missed the next step, prompting Hashirama to tighten his grip. His skin was crawling where they were touching. He couldn’t tell what it meant.

There was definitely madness festering in the man.

Tobirama wasn't unfamiliar with madness - there was a part of Aniki's tethering on the edges of sanity, the balance only kept steady by Izuna, and even then the things Aniki was ready to do to protect Izuna first ( _how he yearned to be up there with his twin too and what did that say about him?_ ), the clan second... Izuna wasn't wholly sane, either, hadn't been for as long as Tobirama could remember ( _when he had stumbled over Tobirama's notes about a resurrection jutsu, he had been so delighted that he had started to bring back dead animals for Tobirama to experiment on; he would kill them himself in different cruel ways just to see how a specific death would affect them post resurrection; and those few times with people-_ ). There was something wrong with Tobirama's own mind, he knew from how people shied away from his suggestions and his creations.

But that was fine, it was normal. Hashirama's madness, though, was unsettling; it was like staring over the edge of a cliff, unable to see the bottom, wondering what exactly was there.

The way he had talked about his dead brother… why had he even told Tobirama about all of that? It seemed like such a private thing, definitely not to be shared with an enemy. And he might have been lying, right? To gain his sympathy, to-

But Tobirama was _useless_.

He wasn’t his brother’s heir, nor the brother his own ones wanted ( _he knew, he knew they would him rather dead and the others alive, but he was alive and they bound-_ ), and he wasn’t any kind of asset to his clan. Not valuable enough. And as Hashirama himself had noted, he wouldn’t need Tobirama to get information. Logically seen, there was no reason to lie to him to – whatever.

It just didn’t make any sense.

Could it be really as simple as Hashirama seeing his dead infant brother in Tobirama?

_“He was different, not cursed or wrong. As different as you.”_

His toes curled uncomfortably.

He had sensed Hashirama’s emotions while talking about someone long dead, their intensity even drowning out the violent power roaring in his chakra, and he had never sensed anything like it. The Uchiha were passionate to a fault. They always felt too much, loved and hated too much with no steady middle ground in between.

Their passion seemed like nothing more than a drop in the ocean compared to Hashirama’s intensity that was the whole ocean. And Tobirama had slipped in, careless as he was, and it was an exhausting struggling not to let himself drown.

( _How could he have so much love for someone whom he never really got to know?_ )

“Cousin.”

Hashirama didn’t stop but allowed Senju Touka to catch up with them, falling into step on his other side. She had been watching Tobirama ever since her delegation had come close enough. She most likely also had some sensing ability for Tobirama could still feel her chakra ( _calm and soothing, belying the danger lurking in her very being_ ) nudge against him, prodding none too gently.

“I know you are fond of keeping to your own thoughts, but pray tell who this little runt is?”

He could literally feel the men behind them, at a distance, still in sight but too far to communicate, perk up in curiosity.

Hashirama hummed, gaze flitting from Tobirama to Touka, the warmth in his voice telling that he was smiling. “His name’s Tobirama!”

Touka froze, only for a split second, before catching herself. She couldn’t hide her incredulity, though, not from Tobirama who was so attuned to picking up on the smallest flicker of emotion in one’s chakra even if he didn't understand them most of the time ( _he could name an emotion but it was so hard to understand why it was there_ ). “You _named_ him?”

“He did not!” Tobirama bit out instinctively, forgetting all about his resolve to keep quiet. But how dare she? ( _His name was the only thing of meaning Aniki had ever given him, and he refused to believe that even that might have been an act of ridicule of some sort._ ) “That’s my name, the one my family gave me.” ( _Aniki, Aniki did after months of no one naming him._ )

Touka wasn’t convinced. “Really. And who is your family?”

Tobirama’s chest hadn’t felt like this in a while; like it was too small and his heart had been forced inside.

People knew, usually. The moment they saw an Uchiha, they could recognize them. Dark hair, dark eyes, pale skin. Tobirama had nothing of that except the pale skin and his was a sickly pale not the natural one his clansmen had. No one looked at him and thought, _Uchiha_. No one believed it until they saw his sharingan.

Sometimes, even Tobirama didn’t believe it.

His looks were an anomaly. He wasn’t as openly passionate as the rest. Water called to him more than fire ever had. His brothers didn’t _see_ him. He might as well be a spirit or a burden someone had loaded off to the Uchiha. ( _Izuna had enjoyed it a lot, in the past, to come up with theories about how he had ended up with them, some in good humor, most with a cruel twist to them; he preferred those over simply being wrong and unwanted._ )

When Tobirama didn’t say anything for a long while, Hashirama’s hand let go of his and instead found its way in his hair. It was a comforting weight and Tobirama wanted to rip off the offending limb. “It doesn’t matter. Not anymore. He’ll be Senju shortly.”

Tobirama came to an abrupt halt, his very soul plummeting into the deep pit that had opened in his stomach. There was a gate at the end of the clearing, he absently noted. Hashirama had stopped when he did, pleased warmth never wavering. Touka, though… there was an ashen sheen to her skin that even Tobirama could see and pity vividly spiking up when she focused on her cousin. He noticed it all but couldn’t process it, his mind was blank.

Surely, he had misheard. The guy couldn’t actually be intending to take him into his clan. Make him a _Senju_. That - that was ridiculous.

The shinobi who had infiltrated their compound and killed Sora-nii had been Senju, the ones to poison their main source of water leading to Shisui-nii’s death had been Senju, the patrol that had hunted down Inabi when he had tried to rush back home to fetch the last healer had been Senju, the assassin that had snapped Yakumi-nii’s neck on a mission supposed to be Tobirama’s had been Senju – Senju Hashirama had cut his father’s throat in half after surrender.

Senju meant death and grief and graves. ( _They meant danger for Izuna, they meant constant worry and pain for Aniki._ )

Tobirama would rather throw himself at a pack of hungry Hatake wolves to be shredded to pieces than become a bloody Senju. He was already cursed, Senju Hashirama couldn’t turn him into the scourge of the Uchiha. He just couldn’t.

Hashirama was watching him, drinking in his reactions, the emotions he couldn’t keep a grip on, as he addressed his cousin, his tone final, “He’ll be a Senju and my heir. _We_ are his family now.”


	4. IV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments and kudos, guys ❤️

**IV**.

“…nd, _well_?”

Madara blinked, focus returning slowly. The child blocking his path into the main house didn’t look impressed by his lack of attention. With both his hands on his hips, curls being bounced around his face by the howling wind, he was regarding Madara through squinted, judging eyes. (That boy _used to do that too, this same pose and same expression, when someone ranked under him did something particularly stupid._ )

He would be offended if this wasn’t a five years old kid wearing his patience down.

“I’m afraid I didn’t catch your question.”

The boy puffed up his cheeks in indignation. “I asked you when shishou would return!”

 _Ah_. Of course, he should have guessed this and would have had his mind not been distracted. It was always the same with this brat. “Kagami, my answer won’t change just because you keep asking.”

“’s not an answer,” the brat huffed, nose scrunched up in displeasure. Another habit he seemed to have picked up from his self-proclaimed shishou. What craft could he even be learning from someone who himself wasn't fully adult yet to warrant referring to him as 'shishou'? “How can you not know? Do you not care?”

His temples were starting to throb. He had lost count of how many times a day Kagami sought him out to inquire about Tobirama and it was starting to grate on his nerves. As if it wasn't enough for him to deal with the growing ball of anxiety within him the longer Tobirama stayed out of reach.

“Look, brat, he won’t come back faster just because you are pestering me.”

Kagami jutted out his wobbling lower lip. Kami, he wasn’t about to cry, was he? “I just… Aunt Himawari said you wouldn’t bring him back.”

Madara’s mouth curled around a wordless curse. “Maybe you should stop listening to the chatter of senile women.”

“So, you _will_ bring him back?” Kagami prodded, tone laced with doubt.

And Madara – hadn’t even known that Kagami was this attached to Tobirama. He had noticed the brat following Tobirama around, of course, much to everyone’s bemusement. ( _Izuna wouldn’t stop complaining about Kagami stalking his twin, caught between honest disdain and amusement_.) Apparently, it didn’t matter in which world Kagami lived, he would be drawn to the Oni whom most people steered clear of regardless. ( _He had always been a strange kid, hadn’t he? Smiling and happy and incredibly persistent when he wanted something, a lot like Hashirama used to be._ ) Although, how they had developed a student teacher relationship already when the brat couldn’t even fit into their smallest armor yet…

But Madara was late for a meeting with the Nara clan head, Izuna had been missing since last night and elder Tsuna had been trying to track him down for days now ( _the audacity of those pesky elders that they still thought they held any value for the clan_ ). He was tired and stressed and Kagami wasn’t helping.

“Obviously. Why wouldn’t I?”

Something flickered in the brat’s gaze, something that a kid of five years shouldn’t be able to feel. It was discomforting. “Because you don’t like him!”

Madara inhaled the icy morning air, held it until it burned in his lungs before releasing it slowly in a puff of white clouds. Fucking brat. “It doesn’t matter. We are Uchiha, we take care of family whether we like them or not.”

Kagami grimaced, confused and upset. “But aren’t we supposed to love family? Shishou loves you!”

( _Shut up, shut up, shut up._ )

Something hot and vicious was burning on his tongue, ready to tip over, and he would regret it- ( _he was patient with the children, usually, enjoyed their company and found amusement in their curious questions but Kagami made it a habit to provoke him with matters he had no inkling about-_ )

“He’s not getting your precious shishou back to you if you’re literally stopping him from it, kid.”

Madara didn’t react when his brother draped himself over his back, just shifted his right foot slightly forward to accommodate the extra weight. He was almost relieved for the help but – he hadn’t even noticed Izuna approach. It happened sometimes, that he took too strong a dosage of poppy seed tea and impaired his instincts, sensing included. He hadn’t thought it would be that strong this time, and shouldn’t it have already run its course? ( _The Oni took care of these things, and Madara had long since stopped rebuffing him; if he enjoyed menial tasks, fine._ )

And then, there was the heavy stench of smoke mixed with blood and earth assaulting his nose, causing him tense up with dread.

Kagami stared at Izuna with his mouth hanging open. Awed and gleeful. “Who beat you up?”

“Don’t sound so delighted, you little shit,” Izuna drawled teasingly. “And scram! Do you want your shishou back or not?”

The kid hesitated, gaze flickering from Izuna to Madara. Reluctantly, he stepped away from the entrance, chin held high in defiance. It would have looked impressive if not for those curls still bouncing around as if someone was ruffling them. “Okay. But I know where you sleep!”

“He’ll be a nightmare when he grows up,” Izuna muttered at the brat’s retreating back. “Did you know that he moved into the freak’s lab? He literally lives there.” ( _The old shrine wasn’t really a lab, but it had been good enough a substitute for Tobirama_.)

Madara wasn’t listening. He craned his head and took in his brother’s appearance. There were marks adorning one of his cheeks in the shape of four teeth, deep and still bleeding. “What the fuck.” His heart would burst if it beat any faster. “Whom did you hunt down for a fight?”

Izuna pressed his bleeding cheek into Madara’s shoulder. He could _feel_ the idiot smile and that just had his irritation spike higher. “There was a Hatake patrol. I had no idea that they could also contract with dogs and not just wolves.”

“Hatake,” Madara repeated slowly. “You mean those assholes who solely guard Senju borders, _those_ Hatake?”

“In my defense, those borders keep growing.”

( _They did. The clans that drew the attention of the Senju forces either gave up their lands willingly or fled and that left the Senju to take root and spread_.)

“Izuna…”

His brother pushed away and took a step back. The smile slipped off his lips, charcoal eyes cold. “I’ll see a healer. Didn’t you have a meeting, Aniki?”

( _And where did this come from, these darker layers to his brother which he hadn’t noticed in another life?_ )

Madara had raised this fool and was far past surprised at such odd mood changes. “Don’t think you’re getting out of this, though.”

He might not have the White Oni's terrifying mind, always in motion and working, or Izuna’s foresight, always two steps ahead of most, but he was no fool, either. Just what was it, though, that the Senju had done to warrant Izuna go off and scream for their attention?

The acid burning in his stomach suggested that he wouldn't like the answer.

* * *

“The Hyuuga are supporting the Senju.”

Madara grunted in disgust. Of course, those cretins would. It wouldn’t surprise him if they had decided to do so just because the Uchiha were on the other side. Hyuuga Hibeki was _that_ petty. ( _But also prideful, too prideful to accept bowing willingly_.)

Nara Shiko stared at him from over the rim of her cup. The steam floating around her face made her features look softer than they were. “Do you understand what that means, Uchiha-san?” Putting her tea down, she straightened, both hands on her knees. Her knuckles were white. “A powerful ally. While we might outnumber them, they have gathered an impressive group of allies.”

“Subordinates, more likely,” Madara huffed. Allies were equals and Hashirama didn’t accept anyone standing next to him.

“You’ll plunge the whole country into war,” the Nara continued, ignoring his comment. “And Tetsu no Kuni will not sit quietly throughout it, either. The Samurai will get involved.”

 _(“It’ll throw the whole country into chaos, and it’s a gamble, of course. But with more forces on our side and the Samurai out for the Senju as well, the odds are in our favor. The Senju are greedy, anyway, Aniki. We’ll just push the resistance before they can push their conquest.”_ )

Madara stared at his own untouched tea, frowning thoughtfully. “Would you prefer Hashirama’s subjugation?”

“I would prefer to sleep and never wake up,” Shiko retorted drily. “You and those Senju dragging everyone into your mess-”

“Let’s not pretend that we were the only ones at war.” They were shinobi, after all, even proclaiming neutrality didn’t mean that a clan wouldn’t get its hands dirty if needed. “I’m pretty sure that Hashirama asked you to join him in building his village, as well.” After Uchiha Tajima, with the daimyo’s support, had plundered part of the Senju lands, burning down what had remained of the fields and leaving behind a trail of bodies. When Senju Butsuma had been battling death in the wake of said assault. That had been the turning point, had it not?

Shiko’s mouth turned downward into a scowl. “We couldn’t have expected that with Butsuma dead the _Uchiha_ would be the ones at a disadvantage.”

“And here we are today.” ( _Would Hashirama have stayed true to his self if one, only one other clan had listened to him and helped forge that village out of his dreams?_ )

“Unfortunately.” She sighed, tired and weary. There were lines in her face that shouldn't be there, she wasn't much older than Madara - and yet, she looked like she had lived too long already. “Senju Hashirama is a terrifying opponent. We don’t know the limits of his power and he is beyond reason. You either submit or die.” Sometimes, die even after submitting. “They say that you cannot step into his forest without him knowing that you are there and what you are up to. His forest has been expanding." ( _Slowly at first, now at an alarming rate_.) "Force. Surveillance. Submission. That’s not peace.”

Madara found himself smiling sardonically. He remembered Hashirama from their last fight, face glowing with delight and eyes oozing pleasure as the battlefield drowned in blood around him. “I don’t think he cares much for peace anymore.”

( _And wasn’t that wrong? The Hashirama in his memories never put anything above his dreams of peace – peace with the Uchiha, with Madara – not even his own last brother. But this one…_ )

Shiko observed him for a long moment before sighing once again. “I hope your plan involves more than just senseless chaos.”

Madara thought of joint shinobi forces cutting down that cursed forest, of possible distractions dividing the Senju factions, of graves Hashirama revered ( _he still wasn’t sure about that part, knowing how Hashirama felt about his dead brothers; it was risky trying cut into a nerve that could cause a madman to snap_ ). “Oh, they do. I can’t promise that we’re getting out of this intact, though.” It would depend on who was stronger, they with their desperation to survive or Hashirama’s never-ending wrath.

“No one’s getting out intact, anyway,” she huffed. “Very well then. It’s either survive or die now.” She drained her cup, stared at it for a while, huffed again in resignation and stood up. “The daimyo’s offering funds and shinobi but requests a personal meeting soon. We’re gathering what we can in the meantime and will await your word.”

“You shall receive it at the right time.” Madara nodded in acknowledgement, then motioned for the guard at the door to escort their guest out. The moment he was alone, he let his shoulders sag and rubbed the balls of his hands over his throbbing forehead.

He was tired.

“Madara.”

 _Fuck_. He pinched his eyes closed for a split second. This was definitely not what he needed right now.

“Really, that’s how I’m treated after healing your brother? You brats have always been ungrateful.”

Tilting his head to the side, he stared warily at the old woman who was standing in the door. Not entering, but leaning forward on her cane, scrutinizing him critically.

“I don’t consult you anymore, so I don’t see the point in talking. Besides, I’ve been busy.”

Tsuna clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “Holding such grudges for so long isn’t good for your health, boy.”

“It hasn’t been that long,” he said drily. “And forgive me if I’m not willing to overlook treason.”

“ _Almost_ treason,” she corrected. “Your brother was unsurprisingly loyal, wasn’t he? And you could have ordered execution if it bothered you that much.”

Infuriating old hag. As if trying to turn his brother against him so the elders could install him as the new clan head was light enough a matter to forgive easily. ( _They thought that he was compromising the clan by not fighting Hashirama seriously. Senile old fools hadn’t even realized that the days of their playful fights had been long over and Hashirama was simply stronger_.) Izuna had turned on them that very moment and Madara had been tempted to execute the lot of them; but considering that the Uchiha were already dying, taking out the whole elder council at once seemed unwise.

If they could just keep to their corner in the compound and stop bothering him, he wouldn’t regret having shown mercy.

“Just say what you came to say. As I said, I’m busy.”

She frowned, thoughtful, considering. “You shouldn’t attempt to get _that boy_ back.”

Surprised, Madara turned fully toward her. “What?”

“This is a blessing in disguise. The Senju did us a _favor_ by taking him. Maybe his curse will strike down on them now, who knows? But don't bring him back.”

Madara's surprise morphed into cold fury that melted into his glare. Tsuna had always been the most paranoid about Tobirama; she had been there throughout the pregnancy, as she had been with all of them, but Izuna and Tobirama… father used to say that she lost her mind then. ( _He remembered, like a distant dream, one time before Tobirama’s suiton affinity had manifested, they had found Tsuna trying to drown him in the well behind the old shrine; Sora had beat him to her otherwise, he might have lashed out worse; and it did feel like a dream for he hadn’t ever felt this furious, not for that boy-_ )

“We don’t abandon what is ours.” ( _Not even the White Oni_.)

“Is he, though?” Her arms started to shake, her legs to sway. “I have been saying for years but you do not listen. There was one and then there were two, it’s unnatural! It’s a _curse_ and we’ve been suffering. Did you forget the brothers you laid to rest? Do you want to bury Izuna next?”

“Shut. Up.” Madara stood up slowly. His chest was on fire yet, he felt oddly calm. “It’s none of your business.”

Izuna had survived for so long – what curse was this that did not strike the closest target? His other brothers, yes, he had blamed the Oni. It was convenient, an easy target. And Madara did resent him for surviving when the others did not despite being weaker. But that was between him and the boy and no one else.

Brother or not, he was Uchiha ( _unbelievably_ ), his loyalty was with them and Madara did not abandon what was his. The sooner people understood that, the better for everyone.

( _And Hashirama didn’t get to keep him, not this time, not when he wasn’t the bastard’s to keep._ )

“What I decide to do about my family is my concern. Leave. Now.”

She didn’t move immediately, still staring at him almost frantically. “I warned you. You and Izuna are going to doom us all.”

“Look around,” he spat. “We already are doomed.”

* * *

Hashirama’s forest was creepy.

Izuna’s sensing abilities were pathetic ( _nowhere near Aniki’s, let alone his twin’s_ ), but they enhanced when he opened his eyes in his vessel birds ( _different from a sensor, he didn’t feel, he saw_ ). The world became a scale of chakras; different colors, different auras, different paths.

That forest was disturbing. It wasn’t immediately obvious, he had to really _look_ to see.

There were tendrils twisting underneath Hashirama’s chakra, thin and ugly worms stretching far and wide. The closer he flew, the more his skin crawled with apprehension; those tendrils didn’t actively reach for him, but they were everywhere, fewer in some places than others, and would brush against him. When they did, it was as if they were trying to penetrate him. ( _It didn’t hurt, usually, just left him feeling dizzy and even when returning to his own body, it took a moment until his skin was his own again._ )

The worst was the spot where the tendrils accumulated into an unrecognizable ball, melting into a multitude of other chakras, so bright it hurt to look at. The Senju’s main compound. Izuna had never been able to get close ( _and he had tried, Kami, how he had tried_ ). Even now, when he circled the area, frustration searing hotly through him, the burrowed body of his summon refused – repelled, his own chakra aching ( _he hadn’t known that was possible_ ). His vision was already blurry and his head ached and there were too many tendrils slithering up his feathers although he was close enough, crawling, crawling, crawling-

He jerked up, sitting ramrod straight, chest heaving uncontrollably. For long, terrifying moments everything was pitch dark and he blinked, tried to breath properly through the panic clawing at his lungs. ( _Not being able to see was jarring, he loathed it so much that he wouldn’t even sleep without a small fire lit next to him._ ) When the darkness started to recede slowly, everything was swimming and his head was throbbing. The pain and the sensation of something crawling over and through his skin had his stomach roil with nausea.

Kami curse fucking Senju Hashirama and his creepy forest.

“…ku, fetch him some tea.”

“Tea’s disgusting,” Izuna muttered miserably. His vision was clearing now, enough for him to see Hikaku disappear hurriedly out of the door.

“You don’t say,” Madara said drily. He was rubbing soothing circles over Izuna’s back. “But it will help settle your stomach.”

( _Aniki always knew what he needed._ ) Izuna leaned into him, rested the back of his head on Madara’s shoulder and sighed, frustrated. “I hate those Senju. Bastards should just drop dead, do everyone a favor.”

Madara shifted to accommodate him better, one leg stretched out next to Izuna’s hip. “Couldn’t get close again?” It was a rhetorical question. “Have you ever thought that sending an actual summon would be better? Maybe your chakra’s just too sensitive.”

“I’d rather not,” he scowled. He hadn’t called upon his hawks in years and he would be damned to change that now. The first one ( _not as massive as her mother, but still large with a beautiful sharingan-red tail_ ) had died shortly after their contract, ripped into by Senju Touka when she had tried to protect Izuna from certain death. Nana hadn’t died then and there, the wound promised a slow, agonizing demise; she had been the last animal, but the first one still alive, he had taken to Tobirama in a desperate attempt to salvage something that was beyond salvation.

( _But Tobirama was terrifyingly competent; after days of holing up in this shrine, he had presented Izuna with his very first vessel, albeit it had taken him long to master that specific seal of storing his chakra into someone –_ something _, inanimate objects were easier targets. It wasn’t the same as Nana actually alive, the resurrection jutsu didn’t work like that, but it was good enough._ )

There were enough humans to lose, Izuna wouldn’t throw summons into the mix as well.

“Fine.” Madara had gone to rake his fingers through Izuna’s hair in gentle motions. It at least soothed his headache a little. “The Hatake?”

He tensed ever so slightly. Of course, his brother wouldn’t drop that. Granted, it had been foolish, getting that close to enemy territory, and not having informed anyone. But it wasn’t like Madara would have let him go if he had known, was it? Sometimes he wondered whether his brother was really that delusional to believe that Hashirama wouldn’t pay attention to Izuna simply because Izuna stayed away from his reach – or whether he liked to pretend.

It didn’t matter, in the end.

“Apparently, Hashirama has taken an orphan into his clan.”

Madara stilled behind him. He didn’t move, didn’t even breath, his fingers frozen against Izuna’s scalp. Izuna might have thought that he had left if he weren’t leaning against him. ( _His Aniki raged when he was angry, violent and vicious, but his silent rage, the cold fury, that was truly terrifying_.)

Izuna laughed, dry and without any humor. “Made him his heir, they say. His dogs think him mad for it.”

And Izuna just… didn’t understand.

What was fucking wrong with Senju Hashirama? What kind of shinobi captured an enemy to give them his name and a position of power within his clan? Surely, this had to be a mind game they hadn’t yet figured out.

( _Why him, though?_ )

“An _orphan_ ,” Madara snarled, dipping that one word in so much venom that Izuna flinched in surprise.

An Uchiha wasn’t orphaned for as long the clan was around. Never. Hashirama proclaiming his twin such – his insides curled with disgust. Not just stripping Tobirama of his name ( _and it was his no matter how many people were loath to admit it_ ) but brandishing him with the one that was written with their family’s blood? Disgusting wasn’t enough to describe this- this violation.

Izuna imagined the freak, sickly pale and bleeding eyes, looking frail at Hashirama’s side, surrounded by hostile people who believed him to be an evil spirit ( _they weren’t bound by duty not to harm_ ). Tobirama was scarily intelligent but his people skills, reading them, understanding them, had always been abhorrent ( _He knew how to handle Izuna and Madara, but they were different_ ), and he had never had to deal with enemies this close before. Izuna couldn’t see him worming his way out of there on his own.

Not being able to deal with a situation left the freak unbalanced and vulnerable – and being vulnerable to Hashirama…

Something dark and ugly stirred in the pit of his stomach. ( _Without Tobirama here to smooth out the violent tides roaring within him, how far down could the stream drag him?_ )

“When we start moving, let me help you with your part, Aniki.”

Madara didn’t say, _I haven’t consented to that part yet,_ nor, _Fuck off, it’s too dangerous_. He didn’t say anything at all and that wasn’t a refusal, was it?

His brother had been against this suggestion – against using the Senju’s graveyard as bait to trap Hashirama while their forces would cut through that monstrous forest. It was dangerous digging their claws into that weakness of Hashirama, had been his brother’s doubts. And it was supposedly wrong to use the dead against anyone, even a monster, like this. But targeting that graveyard that Hashirama tended to with the care of a parent caring for their newborn was far less deranged than what they could actually do. Innocent compared to what Izuna was toying with now.

Besides, Hashirama wasn’t playing fair and Izuna didn’t care for those ridiculous moral notions Madara thought he had to conform to ( _Aniki had ordered the death of a whole village, what morality was left for them to adhere to?_ ). This was war, there was no moral high ground.

That God of the Senju was daring to _steal_ from them, and Izuna would dig into the dead flesh of his brothers in kind and make him _bleed_.


	5. V.

**V.**

“Are you a water spirit?”

Tobirama frowned at the tiny water balls floating over the tips of his stretched-out fingers. ( _He’d seen Aniki do that with fire dancing on his fingers to light up Izuna’s room once and emulated it the only way he could; it was a soothing exercise_.) When he gazed over to the boy who had approached him, absent-mindedly noting the two other children peeking out from behind the looming cherry blossom tree in the middle of the courtyard, the kid was fixated on his hands, mouth agape with awe.

For a long moment, all Tobirama could do was stare. It had been such a long time since he had been able to see clearly enough to read another person’s emotions in their face rather than feel them simmer through their chakra. He hadn’t yet decided whether he liked this or not. Hadn’t yet gotten used to the world around him being clear and sharp.

It was simply odd. A little disorienting. ( _His sensing was his sight ever since he had realized the ability, and it had been a trusted companion in the wake of the sharingan ruining his actual sight._ )

“Water spirit?”

The boy lifted his chin, spikes of brown hair bouncing with the movement. “You were dancing in the pond earlier.”

Tobirama briefly glanced over his shoulder, considering the large pond that was taking up a good portion of Hashirama’s garden, right in front of the patio. He hadn’t been dancing but doing katas to stimulate his sluggish muscles despite the reluctance lying heavily in his stomach. ( _It was more relaxing doing them on a river or pond, and the water usually followed his motions on its own, leaving him sore and exhausted in a good way._ ) There wasn’t much else he could do cooped up in this house, nor in this whole place where even a leaf falling didn’t go unnoticed by Hashirama.

But it still annoyed him, giving into this, knowing how his captor might perceive his actions.

“I’m not a spirit.”

“Really?” The boy pouted in honest disappointment but was grinning again quickly. Children and their mood changes… “Well, what’s your name?”

“It’s only polite to introduce yourself first before asking someone else’s name,” Tobirama chided, letting a teasing lilt take off the edge to his words.

“I know that!” The embarrassed flush on his cheeks suggested otherwise. “I’m Sarutobi Hiruzen!”

Ah. The Sarutobi clan had been one of the earliest clans to side with the Senju after their land had been infiltrated by the Kurama clan. Though, Tobirama hadn’t expected that they would be living on the Senju’s compound… although, calling _this_ a compound was a huge understatement. It was more of a village, wasn’t it? Houses sprouting from trees, stretched for miles and miles, streets bustling with life, and apparently, more than just one clan living here.

He forced a little smile on his lips. “I’m Tobirama.”

“ _Just_ Tobirama?” Hiruzen asked, confused.

( _Uchiha. Uchiha Tobirama_.)

“He’s Senju!” one of the other children, a girl definitely a couple of years older than Hiruzen, said, preening. “Hashirama-sama said so!”

The smile slipped off Tobirama’s lips. _Senju_. His insides lurched with disgust. The water balls quivered and fell apart, cool wetness splashing over his slightly trembling hands. Hiruzen’s dark eyes gleamed with curiosity and something else, something...

“Teach me,” he intoned, ignoring the girl's comment and his own confusion as he leaned in closer. “I want to dance with the water too!”

Caught off-guard, Tobirama snorted in amusement. “Do you even have a water affinity?” As far as he was aware, the Sarutobi were familiar with katon and doton but not suiton.

Hiruzen cocked his head to the side, a deep, defiant crease between his eyebrows. “I could learn?”

And Tobirama’s heart ached suddenly as he remembered Kagami, doing exactly this once, with the same expression, begging him to teach him water control despite fire probably being his element. ( _The kid was still struggling to have proper control over his chakra as it was yet wouldn’t shut up about wanting to learn advanced jutsu._ )

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” he found himself saying through his teeth. He hastily turned away at the flash of disappointment in Hiruzen’s features, opting to focus on the pretty white lilies floating at the edges of the pond.

He adored children and loved teaching them especially if that meant they would return home safely once they were ready to enter the battlefield. ( _Inabi had been the only one of his brothers younger than him and he had loved him so much and mourned him even more._ ) But this wasn’t the same, was it? He was surrounded by enemies. How could he teach their children who would grow up to detest his clan and the children he had taken under his, albeit limited, tutelage? Even if the boy wanted to learn something relatively harmless - on first glance.

“Well, _I_ think it’s a pretty great idea,” Hiruzen whined. “It will be fun! And I'm a good-”

“Stop bothering our guest, Saru.”

Tobirama’s body tensed as hostility flooded the air, crashing over his senses in roaring waves. It was a stark contrast to the playful tone.

“He isn’t a guest! Shouldn’t-”

“ _Saru_. Not now. We’re busy right now, alright? Same goes to you, Ayumi and Yamato! Off you go, brats!”

A lot of grumbling and whining, mainly from Hiruzen, later the kids had cleared off; he already missed their warm and soothing presences. Although, he was glad not to have to reject Hiruzen repeatedly. ( _Past experiences indicate that he wouldn’t have been able to_.)

“We’re busy?” he asked into the ensuing, uncomfortable silence.

“You’re going to be presented to the Elders to be officially instated into the clan,” Touka said. All playfulness and gentleness gone. “So, yes. Busy.”

Tobirama reached out toward the smooth, white stones lined around the pond, dug his forefinger into the moist earth in front of the nearest one and hummed. “I thought that Hashirama made all the decisions around here.”

Touka grunted at that. “He _does_. It’s just formality and a way of introducing you to the clan more smoothly.”

_“He’ll be Senju and my heir.”_

He was slowly getting used to the bundle of nerves spreading inside of his chest while trying to crowd out his heart. That didn’t make each heartbeat any more bearable, the pinpricks of pain shooting through his veins still jostled him to the bone.

This was ridiculous. It had been days, and still Hashirama was talking about him becoming a Senju, disregarding his opinion on the matter, which was anything but positive – while he was being incredibly kind and considerate: healing all his wounds, joining him for meals, talking at him for hours, giving him access to books… And Tobirama had yet to decipher any hidden intentions. The guy couldn’t seriously be about to name an enemy his heir! What was _wrong_ with him? And how did everyone just go along with this madness?

( _How dare he exude such warmth and affection in his company when planning to brandish him in a most unforgiving way? …when his own brothers never have?_ )

“If you’re done sulking, I’d appreciate it if you could get moving, freak.”

Unbidden, unexpected, his insides flared up, consumed by hot, searing flames. He couldn’t suppress the gasp rolling over his lips, nor did he realize his fingers digging into the formal yukata he was wearing, just where the fire was licking at his heart. _Freak, freak, freak_. ( _Izuna’s katon had always been unbearably hot_.)

There was a subtle shift in Touka’s chakra, the barest hint of confusion and a spark of concern. But she didn’t comment.

When Tobirama turned toward her, he had risen to unsteady legs, not looking straight at her, vision swimming as- “You do not like me. Why?” ( _What did I do, ever, aside from being born this way?_ )

“Am I obliged to like you?” Touka snorted, thick forearms bulging as she crossed her arms. “You’re a total stranger we found in enemy territory and Hashirama’s doting on you as if he’s raised you himself!”

“Technically speaking, it was neutral territory,” he muttered half-heartedly, more so to distract himself from the _doting_ part. The flames inside of him dulled to a phantom ache. ( _Familiar_.)

Touka took a step forward, halted mid-motion and growled, low and threatening. “Hashirama sees something in you that isn’t there.” ( _A brother, a dead brother; he had never thought anyone who wasn’t an Uchiha to be capable to such intense love._ ) “And Kami have mercy, if you ever try to take advantage of that,” she hissed. Sharp. Cutting. Transforming, right in front of him, into that merciless hunter that preyed upon Uchiha on the battlefield, crushing them as if they were nothing more than insects under her feet. “I’ll rip you to pieces myself and scatter your remains into all directions to never be found again.”

He blinked, more surprised than scared. “You care for him.”

Her expression clouded over with anger, mouth pulled into a feral snarl that had Tobirama flinch back. “He’s my clan head and family, of course I care. What the fuck?”

 _He’s also a monster_. Surely, even his supporters knew that he wasn’t exactly _right_? Tobirama was certain that one didn’t need to be a sensor to pick up on the odd, intimidating flavor to the man’s aura. And Tobirama knew for a fact that most of his allies had been subjugated rather than joining him willingly, and there were even rumors about some happenings within his own clan.

He himself had seen Touka walk next to Hashirama without really walking next to him, addressing him with familiarity yet, lowering her gaze and accepting each of his decisions without protest even if she didn’t like them. That wasn’t how family worked, was it? ( _Aniki and Izuna would yell and scream if they vehemently disagreed on something._ ) He had sensed Touka’s obedience, seen in the careful way she moved around him that she fully understood that her cousin was dangerous.

Yet, as he realized now, the Senju had it in her to still earnestly care for a person she also feared. Was it family obligation? He didn't understand.

( _How?_ )

* * *

Touka’s hostility was nothing compared to the strong resentment the Elders regarded him with. There were only three of them, strangely enough, and it was clear what they thought of him. He scowled at them in return. It wasn’t as if he was here out of his free will. If it were up to him, he would already be back home.

But the large, warm hand on his back emphasized how it wasn’t up to him.

“Hashirama,” the man in the middle spoke up carefully. He wasn’t standing unlike the other two and his eyes were a milky white. He looked frail and so old, Tobirama hadn’t ever seen anyone that old. “Disturbing the dead isn’t kind.”

Tobirama winced as Hashirama’s chakra trembled with apprehension turned into fury; it was grating against his nerves, making his temples throb. “I assure you he is fully alive, Azuma-san.”

Azuma frowned and shook his head. “He is but the one you are seeking in him is not.”

Hashirama’s hand pressed harder against him, almost pushing him forward. “I’m not here to look for approval.”

“You have never needed our approval for anything, we’re aware,” the woman to Azuma’s left said bitterly. “But what do you even know about this boy to declare him your heir? He is not kin.”

“Maybe I wasn’t clear enough in my announcement because: he _is_ kin.”

 _I’m not_ , he wanted to hiss but held his tongue because- What use would it be? All he might achieve was antagonize Hashirama and then, he might not find a single chance to leave this confusing place for good. Right now, he had the man’s goodwill, whatever the reason, and it left him plenty of room to think and plot. So, he swallowed any scathing retort, and it turned to bile in the pit of his stomach.

( _It was for survival, nothing more_.)

The third Elder, much younger than his companions, was staring intently at Tobirama, mouth pulled into a thoughtful line. “No human looks like this without reason. Are you going to risk the kami’s curse befalling us?”

( _“You can’t cause our doom when you’re dead,” Elder Tsuna was saying, her grip ironclad in his hair, but he couldn’t hear clearly, there was too much water in his ears and his nose and his mouth, and not enough breath and his chest-_

_“Don’t touch him!” Mother snatched Inabi away before his curious fingers could touch the baby’s shadow of black hair, her face wild and scared. “It’s inauspicious!”_

_“We should just send Tobi here over,” cousin Haru laughed under the roaring of the drunk crowd. “He’ll curse them to death for us!”_

_“He-”_ )

“If the kami were so intent on cursing us, it would have happened long before any of us was born,” Hashirama said, cold and cutting, his chakra whipping with such bone-deep hatred that Tobirama grimaced as it pierced through his head. “I’m not here for your approval. I simply thought it would be appropriate to introduce you. I wouldn’t want to disrespect my Elders, after all, especially seeing how _short on numbers_ you are.”

That was definitely a threat underlying Hashirama’s deceptively calm tone. And the reprimanded Elder did look uncomfortable… anxious? Tobirama squinted his eyes in thought, but it was hard to focus through the sound of blood rushing in his ears. ( _No had ever defended him_.)

“I will not accept any form of disrespect toward Tobirama. From _anyone_.” He let the words hang ominously in the air before adding, “You may leave now. Thank you for your time.”

Tobirama’s gaze strayed toward the opened scroll laying on the tea table in front of where Azuma sat. All three of them had already signed without comment when Hashirama had pushed the parchment toward them, even if they had been reluctant to do so. Why protest afterward, anyway?

Azuma lingered even after the other two had helped him to his trembling feet, his unseeing gaze focused on somewhere in the distant. “I do not presume to tell you what to do, my boy. If you want to take in anyone into this clan, that is your right as our leader. All I am asking is that you do not deceive yourself. Do not insult your brother’s memory like this.”

Tobirama stumbled out of the way, tugging at his hair, wanting it to _stop_ , but the stream of Hashirama’s fury was relentless and without mercy, trying to carry him away. ( _Not even Aniki could make it hurt enough for him to openly show his distress._ )

Hashirama glanced at him, concern softening the fury etched into his features, the stream slowing down and allowing him to breathe. “Just leave and don’t dare talk about my brother again.” He didn’t wait to see whether they listened to him, already kneeling next to Tobirama’s hunched form, reaching for his head. “What’s wrong?”

( _Stop it, stop it, stop it, stop sounding so sincere!_ )

“He’s a sensor,” Touka said from the other end of the room where she was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over her chest. “A very sensitive one, apparently.”

“Oh.” The look with which Hashirama was watching him now had his insides churn uncomfortably; it was a nauseating feeling combined with the dull pain still throbbing behind his forehead. “He… Well.” Hashirama licked over his lips uncertainly, an odd look on him, and rested his palm on top of Tobirama’s head. “My brother, he would react to my feelings. Cry when I got angry. Laugh when I was happy. The smallest things! I always thought he would be a sensor.”

( _Shut up._ )

“The one who died as a _baby_?” Tobirama rasped, incredulous. His incredulity was mirrored in Touka, though tinted with a whiff of crushing sadness.

“Yes.” Hashirama didn’t even hesitate, totally serious, expression composed – aside from that sad little smile dancing around the left corner of his mouth. “You know, I am aware of how people see me. But regardless of their opinion, I am not crazy for having loved and _seen_ my brother.”

( _How could you, though? How could you love yours so terrifyingly much despite him being as much of an abomination as I and mine can’t even look at me?_ )

“Hashirama-sa-”

“Anija. Call me Anija.”

( _He had called Aniki such once in the aftermath of Yakumi-nii’s death; it had slipped out on its own as the grief made him delirious, an unfamiliarly familiar weight on his tongue. He had never seen Aniki this livid, an image burnt into his memory as much as having been locked away for two days straight. He had never dared use that word again, just let it simmer on the top of his tongue and covered it up with a less satisfying, more hollowing one._ )

How… why would Hashirama use this specific…?

Panic had him scramble away, out of that gentle grip, away from those soft brown eyes and that strangely soothing chakra. This was ridiculous. Stupid. Hashirama constantly talking about his dead brother was messing with Tobirama’s head.

He would rather bite off his own tongue than address the man as anything more than the enemy he was.

( _I have brothers, even if they don’t want me, they are my brothers._ )

* * *

Hashirama was at a loss. He didn’t dare move and just stared at Tobirama’s huddled form, noting his dilated pupils and heavy breathing with an aching heart.

The boy was stubborn and didn’t like nor appreciate any of his affections. He barely even talked to him, and that was fine. These things needed time, right? Adjusting to a new place, a new clan and new family wasn’t easy. And Hashirama could be patient especially if he was rewarded with small smiles and genuine questions and surprised awe from time to time. He accepted those simple gestures like a thirsty man would water.

But this – flinching away from his touch, being terrified and confused…

“Maybe you should knock him out.”

He threw a withering glare at his cousin who just shrugged innocently, impassive mask not shifting in the least.

“Am just saying. We have other things to do, if you might remember, cousin dearest.”

“I’m sure it can wait,” he hissed.

Touka raised a thick, unimpressed brow. “Tell that to the Hatake who are demanding Uchiha Izuna’s fucking head.”

Hashirama sneered, ready to retort viciously – but Tobirama raised his head ever so slightly, his eyes a little clearer, breath stuttering with recognition rather than panic.

 _Izuna_. That had gotten a reaction out of him? Resentment stabbed through Hashirama’s chest, so sudden, so intense that he couldn’t control it souring his chakra. Tobirama didn’t go back to his huddling but he did flinch, and his fingers twitched in that white hair of his.

He had to be an extremely good sensor to react like this to other people’s emotions.

( _His brother had only been a baby, of course. It shouldn’t have been possible but Hashirama knew that the baby had reacted to even the smallest shift of emotions in him in ways he had found precious. It hadn’t been his imagination no matter what anyone said._ )

“Very well.” Hashirama heaved himself to his feet, a weird mix of reluctance and determination making him unsteady.

He hadn’t been prepared for cool fingers to slip around his wrist. Nor for a red gaze to be fixed on him in such openness and silent pleading. “What are you going to do?”

“To Izuna?” He hummed thoughtfully. “Well. Whatever you do to someone who trespasses into your lands and kills your people.”

Hashirama had known. The moment Izuna had crossed the threshold of his forest, the earth had informed him in hushed whispers. But Hashirama had been busy with treating Tobirama’s damaged eyes that night, and Tobirama had been so pliant, even allowed him to massage his scalp afterward and put him to sleep that way.

He wouldn’t have left that room, the one Itama and Kawarama used to share once upon a time, for anything in the world.

Regrettably, the Hatake patrol had been wiped out and the Hatake clan hadn’t taken kindly to it. Hashirama had wondered what might have prompted Madara’s little brother, the one Madara seemed to shelter at every step, whom he kept as far away from Hashirama as possible ( _as if that would protect the brat_ ), to act out in such a way – to be begging for Hashirama’s attention.

For nothing else this little transgression could have been but a cry for attention. ( _A small form of defiance, knowing that they couldn’t hit him where it mattered_.)

Now, observing the horrified fear seeping into a brilliant shade of red, he thought he found his answer to what had caused Izuna to be this foolish. And he didn’t like it.

“You _can’t_ …” Tobirama trailed off, chewing on his lower lip, hesitant and desperate, and he wondered, for a brief moment only, whether the boy would beg. He didn’t. Not quite. “Don’t hurt him.”

The resentment grew, shot through his veins with each heartbeat, _burning, burning, burning_.

“That really isn’t fair, Tobi!” He chided, playful, teasing. Cruel. “You refuse my request but make one of your own? Not fair at all.”

Those pale features twisted. For all of his impassiveness, Tobirama was so easy to read at the moment – was that intentional? Or a slip in protocol? One that happened rather often, if he thought about it. “I, well. I…” The boy shuddered, visibly struggling. “I can… An-”

“ _No_.” That one word burnt in ice. Yet, he pouted, a childish, petulant edge to it. A grotesque difference that had Tobirama’s breath hitch in shock. “It wouldn’t mean anything.” Hashirama hadn’t believed to ever be addressed such again ( _Anija had died when Itama had been buried, a long time ago_ ) and he would rather let Madara cut him down than have Tobirama call him _Anija_ in the hopes of sparing that Uchiha vermin’s miserable life.

Tobirama let go of him. This time, there was something else in his gaze – defiance ( _why was it the same look Madara sprouted whenever meeting him?_ ). “And how am I supposed to be a Senju if you do nothing but kill my kin?” It was a soft hiss, meant only for his ears.

Hashirama blinked, slow, considering. “If there’s no kin to return to, you’ll truly be bound here, won’t you?” And he whirled around before Tobirama’s face could fully crumble, stalked out of his receiving room into the dimly lit hallway of his home, snatching up the signed document before doing so.

Touka’s light steps followed him for a while up until he came to the door. They stopped, waiting.

He sighed. He didn’t have the patience for this. “What?”

A moment’s silence. Then, “Is he an Uchiha?”

Oh. _Oh_. He rubbed his hands over the exhaustion on his face. Of course. Touka was clever and quite skilled at picking up the barest of hints. And Tobirama had offered a whole treasure of hints in there.

“Are you serious, cousin? You let a bloody Uchiha into our home and made him-”

“He’s _Senju_.”

Touka paused, startled, but it didn’t last long. “I understand that he reminds you of your brother. But he _isn’t_ that.”

Hashirama turned toward her, took in the pity and sadness flickering over her face, the convulsing of her fingers as if she wanted to hold a weapon, and he molded his gaze into sharp steel. “Do you? Understand?”

( _No one had loved the babe like had had nor mourned alongside him, so how could they possibly understand?_ )

Touka huffed and combed her right hand through her short-shorn hair. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

Some of the steel melted away, smoothing out at the edges. “You don’t need to.” ( _What could weak and frail Tobirama do to him, really?_ ) “But maybe you need something else to do, you seem too wound up.” Something that wasn’t pitying him or antagonizing Tobirama, something to calm her down. “What do you think about hunting down an Uchiha for me?” ( _Distraction, distraction_.)

A slow, feral smile curled around Touka’s mouth. “Dead or alive?”

Was she even able to keep her prey alive? Senju Touka had an impressive body count attached to her name, the list of survivors on the other hand...

He thought of Izuna, arrogant and reckless, and Madara, so obsessed with his little brother, and Tobirama, clearly not appreciated by them yet, still caring.

“Humbled,” he said, at last.

Maybe he ought to thank Izuna for presenting him with an opening to dispose of the Uchiha for good. They had basked in his mercy for long enough, and clearly had never deserved it. ( _Would Madara come for him to end this charade once that pesky brother of his was out of the way? Maybe he would understand finally what true despair was._ )

“What about the other issues?”

Hashirama slipped out of the door, his cousin shadowing him once again. The evening air was chilling, a welcoming balm on his throbbing chakra. It would probably rain soon.

“I’m not that worried about the daimyo.” ( _He wished he had killed that arrogant fool right after taking down Uchiha Tajima_.) He was curious, though, if he were honest. Curious to see what Madara and his allies had planned. It had to be something huge considering what Madara had sacrificed for it. ( _They called him a monster but Hashirama had never disregarded the life of someone sworn to him._ )

“And Tetsu no Kuni?”

The bigger problem, wasn’t it? Hashirama had to hand it to Madara, though. Weaving another country into this conflict of theirs; it was almost flattering. “I’ve never been fond of samurai anyway.”

Touka huffed, amused and exasperated. “Don’t take everyone so lightly!”

“I don’t.” They just didn’t have the same wrath driving them that had allowed Hashirama to break all the bounds that had been chaining him to useless ideals and dreams before. They hadn’t loved as much as he had nor lost as cruelly.

“Whatever you say. I’m off.”

And she was gone within a split second, a hunter already searching for her blood-trail. And Hashirama stood there, staring down at the houses that stretched for miles across his beautiful forest ( _he had grown his first flower for the baby, his first berry bush for Kawarama and his first sapling, the one that had grown into a large tree looming over his home, for Itama_ ), the documents on Tobirama’s inclusion into their clan heavy in his grip, thoughts spinning.

There was so much to do, to prepare, many people to talk to. Yet…

He was still aching for the boy inside who could be having another attack right now and Hashirama couldn’t do anything. But soon, hopefully.


	6. VI.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plotting. Or something like that.

**VI.**

“And what shall we do if your plan fails, Uchiha-san?”

Madara’s gaze flickered from the frigid, wrinkled man who was nervously running his forefinger along the rim of his cup of sake in front of him to the man hovering in the shadows of a far corner. A samurai, he had been surprised to note when first entering the room behind Nara Shika and Yamanaka Inoru.

There had been other people, of course. Representatives of the Shimura, Akimichi, Kurama and Aburame alongside several unfamiliar faces, whom he guessed to be from rural clans personally beholden to the daimyo, were littered around the long table, as well as the Inzuka clan head who rewarded him with a brief, nasty glance and proceeded to ignore his existence altogether. But the samurai, there was something deeply unsettling about the man’s aura. Madara couldn’t put his finger on it but it had him on edge, forcing him to keep the stranger in his sight at all times.

He regarded him, _Kuroo_ , for a brief moment, taking in that he was wearing a heavy plate armor that covered his shoulders, chest and lower sides but hadn’t bothered with the mask that was notorious for his kind. He looked human like this, not something usually associated with a samurai's appearance, and Madara couldn't determine whether that was a good thing or not.

Nonetheless, Madara smiled a small, sardonic smile. “Well, then we shall die.”

A hush fell over the gathering. Even the daimyo ceased playing with his drink and stared blankly at him.

Kuroo’s brows knitted together, forming a deep, unhappy frown. Madara imagined his mouth pulled into a thin line behind that scarf covering his face. “Dying is an acceptable option, then? I wasn’t aware that shinobi no mono had so little pride.”

“I’m sure,” Madara drawled lazily. “Just as you aren’t fully aware of who, exactly, Senju Hashirama is.”

Eyes of steel flashed like lightning, fury flaring up and disappearing just as quickly. “Is that so?” The man wasn’t stupid, at least. Nor haughty enough to disregard the comment. His voice sounded almost bored but Madara could pick up on the curious lilt to it.

“He is called _Shinobi no Kami_ for a reason,” Inoru, sitting stiffly at the far end next to the Inuzuka, muttered glumly, Hashirama's infamous title breaking on his tongue. He wasn’t looking at anyone, strands of blond hair obscuring his face, and there was a heaviness to his words, as if speaking was difficult. As if the mere mention might make Hashirama appear out of thin air. “Do not take him lightly.”

“ _Kami_?” Kuroo repeated, faintly amused. Madara wondered if the guy had ever been caught in a genjutsu. “What does that make you, then? Rebelling against your kami?”

( _In another life, that title had been an honor and Hashirama rarely showed it off; in this, it was fraught with terror and danger, Hashirama’s every step thundering why he was called such. Although, perhaps Oni would have been more fitting._ )

“If we pull through, we’ll be survivors,” Madara said, tone as level as possible. Focusing his attention back to the daimyo, pausing to consider the two tensed bodyguards kneeling behind him, Madara asked, “Have you noticed the pattern in which Hashirama’s forest is extending?” ( _It had seemed unimportant, at first, those saplings sprouting in different places around the Senju lands. Up until they began to stretch over the borders of Hi no Kuni, having almost covered its entirety, and slowly closing in on everything within them._ )

“Contrary to your belief, I’m not ignorant,” the man huffed. It lacked any anger.

It wasn’t wise to provoke, Madara knew, but circumstances were such that the power any of them wielded was nothing more than illusion. They had been backed into the same corner: the man whose word was law in Hi no Kuni as much as the shinobi no mono, noble and rural clans, who used to be a symbol of strength and power; all huddled in the same, pathetic corner that the Senju's God had carved for them in his rapidly rising empire. How was it possible to feel so small despite having more numbers?

“Yet, you remained silent, my Lord.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, the daimyo leaned back slightly and regarded Madara thoughtfully. “The last time I thought that the Senju were getting _too_ powerful and tried to intervene… well. The results are in front of us, are they not?”

Madara barely suppressed a derisive snort. _Intervene_. Was that what they were calling massacres now? He hadn’t approved of his father reaching out to the daimyo for help, nor of their plans of attacking the Senju under the guise of the daimyo wanting to offer them improved trade contracts for their exceptional crops. They were shinobi no mono and as such not above fighting dirty – it was part of their lifestyle to do so. But entering someone’s home as a benevolent party, using their lowered guards to infiltrate and slaughter everyone in sight, young and old, women and children, and bereaving them of their harvest, burning down their lands…

He still shuddered thinking about it. Imagining what it would be like if he were to invite someone to the compound and that person ended up murdering-

But Madara hadn’t stopped it either, had he? Hadn’t warned Hashirama nor fought his father and the Elders hard enough on their decision. ( _He couldn’t forget the utter betrayal etched into Hashirama’s features as the then-boy had stood in a sea of ashes and blood, a look not even the other Hashirama had managed to sport no matter how many times Madara spurned him. It was carved into his memory with the shards of broken dreams and a shattered friendship._ )

“I would be better off aligning myself with the madman himself.”

Madara shared an annoyed glance with Shika who sighed, loud and exhausted. “I doubt that’s a real option.”

“He’s not exactly known to be forgiving,” the Kurama woman muttered. Madara squinted at her frail form, wondering whether she was that famous weapon who was said to have been born with those enormous skills in genjutsu particular to the Kurama, strong enough to make genjutsu into reality. Or maybe it was one of her attendants although, both boys looked fairly young. A bit too young to have been involved in taking over the Sarutobi territory the way they had done all those years ago. “Some of the Hagoromo did try to join him, remember? Besides, you would be nothing more than a puppet without power.”

“I’m fairly aware,” the daimyo snapped, voice booming, too loud in the wake of the Kurama’s soft comments. “Although, he does seem to extend his forgiving nature toward certain people.”

 _Fuck_ , that was why he hated dealing with this obnoxious man. Could he make his disdain for Madara any more obvious?

“There’s a difference between forgiving and toying,” he hissed, seething.

Suddenly, the man’s gaze sharpened. “Aren’t you missing a brother?”

Madara’s breath stuttered, both at the abruptness of the question and the question itself. How did…? Of course, there were ways to obtain information. But unless the daimyo had spies within the Uchiha compound, he couldn’t have found out who Tobirama was. Hashirama was keeping that detail even from his own clan, after all. And there were only so many suspects on his list. _Fucking old geezers_. Clan integrity meant nothing to them, did it? He really should have executed every single one of them. ( _And he loathed the idea of anyone knowing about Tobirama in a way he didn't fully understand; it left him feeling exposed as if baring something to the world that it wasn't supposed to see. Maybe a part of him worried that anyone who would look in from the outside would just_ know _how wrong Tobirama among the Uchiha was._ )

“He’s not dead,” the daimyo continued, oblivious to Madara’s inner turmoil. “But the Senju aren't known to take captives.”

Madara considered the man thoughtfully, ignoring the curious glances the other occupants were throwing at him. The daimyo had only mentioned the capture but not what Hashirama had done ( _and it still made him burn, burn, burn thinking about that disgusting-_ ).

“Who knows what goes on in the heads of madmen,” he eventually huffed. “And if you’re worried about me being compromised because of that, I assure you that’s not the case.” There was obvious doubt visible in those wrinkles. It made Madara pause and consider. “What, are you afraid I’ll do to you what you did to them?” A crack, an angry flush. “Really? You won’t even be anywhere near the frontlines!”

The thought was amusing, though.

“I wouldn’t need to be,” was the snappish answer.

Fair enough. And it wasn’t like these fears were completely unfounded. The daimyo was about to order every available shinobi in Hi no Kuni to Madara’s side, offering riches to most, threats to others and reasonability to some, whilst also funding this campaign. He was basically giving up his own resources and protection. If Madara were to betray him…

“I don’t think Hashirama hates anyone as much as he does us Uchiha. Besides, it’s not like you have much of a choice. It’s either trusting me or dying.” _Or both_.

A bony shoulder drooped with resignation, but the sharp edge hadn’t yet left the man’s gaze. “Indeed. I have one last question, though.” At Madara’s inquisitive nod, he continued, “They say that you used to be Senju Hashirama’s equal. What caused the power imbalance?”

( _He has nothing left, no one to reign him in, while I have a brother to be careful about._ )

“Madness,” Madara said, tongue curling with a truth that didn’t feel entirely true.

It was a non-answer, really, and yet the daimyo’s eyes gleamed in a strange way, one that raised Madara’s hackles in warning. _Sly bastard, what the fuck are you planning?_

“If that’s all, I’ll be leaving now.”

His head snapped toward Kuroo who had walked up to the window in Madara’s periphery. He was exchanging an odd glance with the daimyo and judging from Shiko’s rapt attention and the Inzuka’s nervous fidgeting, he wasn’t the only one to catch it.

“We’ll leave you shinobi to your sneaky plots.”

“And what exactly are you guys going to do?”

Kuroo inclined his head in a mocking bow. “You’ll just have to see, Uchiha-san.” And he was gone, window slamming shut in his wake.

The meeting hadn’t gone badly – he got what he wanted in the daimyo’s cooperation, shared the plan with his allies and they were ready to move at any time. And yet, Madara felt incredibly restless. ( _This had been Tobirama’s idea and Madara felt wrong-footed without the boy at his side, loathe as he was to admit._ )

* * *

_Aniki will be furious_.

Izuna stared down at his left arm, drenched in his own blood that probably hid a blotchy mess of black and blue. Not broken, not yet, but it _hurt_ , the pain intense enough to try to blanket his consciousness. He took a deep breath and snapped the back of his head against the rock he was crouching behind, relieved when the sudden shock of pain startled his mind to wakefulness.

His brother would definitely be furious. He would have left a message about his whereabouts, but Madara was meeting with the daimyo and who knew when he would return? And Izuna hadn’t exactly been expecting _this_.

“You do realize that hiding is futile, right?”

Forcing his breath not to stutter, he shifted so that he could look up without straining his neck too much. His muscles were aching enough as it was. Senju Touka was perched on his rock, leaning forward on her naginata ( _the same one that had cut through Nana like butter_ ), smiling amusedly. He returned that smile, added a touch of haughtiness to it. “Worth a try.”

 _Fuck_. Izuna hadn’t expected Hashirama to retaliate this quickly, let alone set his most feral dog on him. He had hoped for an easier opponent, had had all his plans laid out already… _Oh, well_. Those didn’t need to change, did they? It just meant that he had to work harder while keeping his goal in sight. ( _“You can’t panic just because the enemy didn’t behave like you imagined they would,” Aniki used to scold him in the past when he ruined a carefully crafted plan because the enemy surprised him, which ended up with him being beat to a pulp on that specific day, while Tobirama would silently dress his wounds. “Adjust. Be smart.”_ )

He needed to be careful, though. The compound was close by and Madara not here. She might decide to go straight for the heart once she was done with him – and that wasn’t acceptable.

“Are you going to kill me, Senju?”

Touka hummed as if considering that question in earnest. “I’m not sure yet. My orders weren’t specific on that part.”

“Oh.” He wasn’t sure whether to be offended or not. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. Let’s not let it get that far, alright?”

He committed that scowl, a downturn of lips paired with a dark frown and suspicion dancing over her sharp features, to memory. Then, without looking away, he leapt to the side with enough bounce to reach the tree closest to the forest line, and simultaneously activated the tag he had slapped earlier on the rock right where Touka’s feet were touching it. The resulting explosion, loud and deafening, mixed with her surprised curses sent a jolt of excitement through him.

Dry grass chafed uncomfortably against his bare arms, sending hot spikes through the left one. He remained lying on his side for a few moments, just letting the waves of pain wash over him. When the haze started to recede from his consciousness, he slowly heaved himself to trembling legs and took in the destruction of the clearing. ( _It was a fairly small clearing and hidden well enough from prying eyes; the freak’s favorite spot to conduct his more volatile experiments at._ ) Holes and dents deformed the usually smooth and even ground, the twin trees that offered protection a little off the center ( _he would lie in their shadow while lazily watching the freak flit about the clearing_ ) had been felled, one completely uprooted and the other cut in half. A cloud of smoke and dirt stretched out from where the rock had been – and Touka stepped out of it looking like a vengeful spirit despite the coughing and her body swaying. Not enough to keep her down. Her grip on her naginata was strong and her murderous gaze sharper than steel.

“You’re _dead_ , kid.”

Sharingan flaring to life, Izuna took in each and every detail: The armor on her right shoulder was torn, revealing charred skin, her face was covered with grime, and there were scratches adorning the patches of skin that hadn’t been covered, mainly her calves, legs and lower arms. He focused on those scratches, catching black ink fade into the inner side of her wrist, and his lips curled into a pleased smirk.

“You’re welcome to try.”

Maybe, as Madara and Hikaku always said, he did need to learn to hold his tongue on occasion.

Touka’s movements were still fast and precise and _powerful_. Izuna barely managed to dodge a kick aimed at his head, his mind struggling to comprehend how she was already at him instead of still over there, and her foot connected with the massive tree trunk behind him, ripping it right out of the ground. _Fuck_ the Senju and their freakishly brutish strength.

There was nowhere for him to seek shelter. The forest line was too far away, the clearing too exposed and he had lost his damned sword earlier when his arm got mangled. His own movements were sluggish, exhaustion weighing heavily on him. And Touka _would_ kill him, every inch of her body spoke of it as she slowly turned around toward him, naginata swirling in her grip like an executioner’s warning.

For the first time since coming out to meet her, Izuna felt fear shoot through his veins. _Shitshitshit_.

He wasn’t scared of death, not really – it was a reality of his life. Any battle, any skirmish could be the last. Hashirama could decide that he had played long enough with them. Death loomed over all of them at every step, constantly, maddeningly. Dying here, now, like this though… he couldn’t do that to Madara. ( _Aniki wouldn’t survive that._

 _And who would go look for the freak more efficiently than him?_ )

“Why the fuck did you assholes kidnap my brother?” Izuna blinked, surprised at himself ( _Was it the question itself? Referring to him as ‘brother’ so easily?_ ). But when Touka paused mid-motion, he pounced on this chance. “If I’m going to die anyway, the least you can do is give me answers, right?”

An unimpressed brow lifted, almost disappearing behind the brown strands falling over her forehead. “Brother?”

“Twin,” he elaborated although, she hadn’t inquired.

Her expression pinched with confusion. “He doesn’t look anything like you. Or an Uchiha, for that matter.”

( _He had asked his Aniki once, many years ago when Sora-nii and Yakumi-nii would dote on the freak behind mother and father’s backs, before Inabi had been born, why Tobirama looked like one of the evil rabbit demons from grandmother’s stories instead of like – them. Aniki hadn’t really replied but grandmother had stopped telling those specific stories after that._ )

“Sometimes, that happens,” he bit out, voice sharp and cutting, all pretense, any uncertainty gone.

Touka’s lips twitched upward. “Does it now? You sure he’s not simply cursed? That happens too.”

Why was that always the first conclusion people drew? The kami loved the freak too much to have cursed him ( _why else would he keep surviving?_ ). “If so, shouldn’t you thieves be worried?”

“Perhaps.” There was a glint in her eyes, something that had Izuna tense up with dread. “But Hashirama’s smitten with your freakish brother. He’s keeping him, and that’s that.”

And suddenly, he felt sick at the mere thought of dying at this hyena’s hands.

 _Smitten_ just sounded so disgustingly wrong. How had she managed to say it without choking on it? What did it even mean? And how dare she refer to him as ‘freakish’? ( _That was only his right, he hadn’t even tolerated cousins and other clansmen calling his twin such without making them regret it._ )

If he had his sword, he would have enjoyed driving it through Touka’s rotten heart and twist-

“Enough stalled, kid. I’ve-”

There. _There_.

She lost her footing, crashing to her knees, sword tumbling out of her grasp.

Izuna wished he could shift into one of his vessels to watch her chakra coil and uncoil, probably turn a darker shade as it slipped out of her vital chakra points, leaving her heavy-limbed and paralyzed. The vindictiveness roaring through him thrashed violently, desperate to _see_ her suffering, furious at his refusal to do so.

His pulse fell into a normal, familiar rhythm, though. Breathing came easily again without each inhale burning through his lungs.

“Shouldn’t have underestimated me, huh?”

It was satisfying ( _but not enough, never enough_ ) to see her deadly glare morph into a vacant look before she tipped over, out cold.

Izuna exhaled shakily and mentally counted to ten before approaching the unmoving body. She wasn’t dead, although he had no idea whether that would change eventually or not. ( _It was a poison his twin had developed accidentally when testing out whether it was possible to extract someone’s chakra to use yourself; sometimes, they died, other times they remained in a feverish dream for days – Tobirama hadn’t yet found out why that was so. This specific, modified batch, though, tailored to Izuna's ability... they hadn't had the time to test it out._ )

Once kneeling in front of Touka, he turned her around, making sure that she really was unconscious, and for her wrist. His thumb dug into her pulse point where his ink had faded into earlier, and he let a spark of his chakra dissolve into the rough skin. He watched in fascination as his seal flared up, simmering read in Tobirama’s curvy strokes, while her body convulsed with the pain of a foreign chakra signature invading it.

It would be easy to simply cut her throat and watch her drown pathetically in her own blood.

His gaze landed on her naginata and his fingers itched. This weapon had bathed in so much Uchiha blood. Would it react to drinking its master’s?

 _Focus_. Izuna shook his head, trying to tune out _Hashirama_ and _smitten_ and _keeping_ and _freakish_. It didn’t work, he could still hear her taunting voice, edging him to- But he ignored it. Pushed himself away from her convulsing body and assumed a seiza position, closed his eyes and let himself wander.

It was an odd sensation.

There was a reason why Izuna preferred dead animals to slip into – there was no resistance and he was the only one filling up all that space and being in control.

Humans, though… They were complicated.

Even when unconscious, there was a wall that pushed and pushed against his invading consciousness, wanting to crowd him out. It was thin, though. As if made out of glass and he only needed to knock hard enough against it to make it shatter. But his relief was dampened as he could still feel another presence within, curled up somewhere, dim and sluggish for now – but distracting.

Dead humans required too much of his chakra and it wasn’t feasible for him to use them for long; living ones were the hardest, always resisting, always fighting, their chakra rejecting his. He had tried that twice only and both times, the vessels had been left vacant puppets, their minds too damaged to be of use anymore. ( _The only reason Tobirama, much softer back then, hadn’t brooded because of that was that they had been child hunter thrash_.)

He could live with this forced state of unconsciousness. It was uncomfortable and distracting, but not unbearable, especially with the poison thrumming vividly through the foreign chakra while reacting pleasantly to his own ( _it had taken a lot of tinkering and patience and pain to achieve this effect; he hoped it would last_ ). And his chakra mixed easily with Touka’s, which was uncoiling slowly but... dazed, following _his_ lead.

When he opened his eyes, his world was sunk into a myriad of colors, almost familiar but not as pronounced as he saw them through his birds. He pushed himself carefully to his feet, noting the pain from Touka’s wounds as nothing but a faint, distant ache, and regarded his real body in front of him thoughtfully. It looked like a statue, as pale as the moon, muscles locked in place, unmoving. Exposed. He blinked and settled his gaze farther behind where he knew the Naka river ran, and not far from there was Hashirama’s domain.

_“But Hashirama’s smitten with your freakish brother. He’s keeping him.”_

He couldn't wait to uproot that whole forest.


	7. VII.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why but this was a stubborn chapter that took its time to be written...

**VII.**

Hiruzen was a stubborn child.

It had been hours – when the sky had just started to glow in lavender from the slowly rising sun – and Hiruzen was still there, on the pond next to Tobirama, imitating his katas as best as he could. Tobirama didn’t seem to pay him any attention, but… They had been doing the gedan barai earlier, a very simple kata that Tobirama probably wouldn’t have spent that much time on but a challenging one for Hiruzen.

Now, Tobirama stood on the tips of his right foot, the ankle of the left crossed over his knees, arms lifted meditatively. Water was lapping at his toes and ankle as if drawn to him. Hiruzen was wobbling, had lost his footing a few times and taken a dunk even more often yet, he wouldn’t budge.

Hashirama was grateful.

Even if he didn’t show it, Tobirama clearly enjoyed the company of the child. He was finally relaxed, enough for him not to flinch away from Hashirama’s mere presence as he had been doing since the day before even when there were walls between them. ( _And if a part of him hissed that this newfound calmness was due to Touka having returned injured and poisoned and without Izuna, dead or alive, then he expertly ignored it._ )

“Your… heir seems to be settling in.”

He snapped his gaze away from the two and fixated it on Sarutobi Sasuke who had joined him on the patio earlier. The man had refused tea, but a familiar pipe was pressed between his lips, thick smoke leaving in waves whenever he opened his mouth. Hashirama smiled tightly. He wasn’t one for polite pleasantries, though Sasuke was one of his closest allies and as such, he chose more often than not to tolerate the man’s annoying ticks.

“I have had several instructors for Hiruzen, but that boy wasn’t fond of any.” With a thoughtful crease digging between his eyebrows, he added, “Although, I’m not sure whether suiton is something he _can_ learn.”

It probably wasn’t. But his chakra control had improved – if not for the exertion from hours of exercise, he wouldn’t be wobbling on the uneven surface like this or like he had in the beginning of this session. Hashirama glanced back over, blinked in surprise at the soft smile Tobirama regarded Hiruzen with and felt his heart jolt with nostalgia.

He had taught Kawarama and Itama on that same pond, in secret when Butsuma’s attention hadn’t been on them, so that his brothers wouldn’t be punished for sloppy control over their chakra during Butsuma’s training. Kawarama had always had more difficulties, being impatient and too restless to focus on one task for long. Itama had been patient and his calm composition had suited the water well. ( _And the baby, he had sneaked him out often because being stuck inside had to be horrible, would cover him in thick blankets to protect his sensitive skin and would sit at the edge of the pond with his brother in his lap and let droplets slid on chubby cheeks to see them stretch with delighted laughter._ )

“I don’t suppose that you’re only here to discuss your son with me?” If his voice sounded a tad hoarser than usual, Sasuke didn’t comment.

“I _was_ curious about your heir,” Sasuke insisted, smiling without humor around his pipe. “But you are right, of course. You’ve dispatched some of the seasoned Hatake to the north-east border.”

Ah. News travelled fast within his stronghold; not that he tried to suppress them.

“Junto and Michiya are preparing for my war council as we speak. You would have found out either way.” He observed the blatant curiosity flickering over Sasuke’s features and stifled a snort. The man really needed to work on his poker face. “Our friends from Tetsu no Kuni were overeager to visit.”

Sasuke took out his pipe, let it rest on the table between them and breathed out a cloud of smoke, considering. “And you let them pass?”

“No harm done in that; I assure you.”

Hashirama wanted to see what Madara was scheming, after all. What they thought they could do to harm him. And besides, there had been only Senju patrols in that part of his forest, some of which were too inexperienced; Hashirama couldn’t have let them deal with _samurai_. ( _And what was the fun in letting his beloved forest play with those arrogant bastards if Hashirama wasn’t there to enjoy? The chakra stain from such a distance would have been taxing, besides._ )

“You are very confident in your own abilities, Hashirama-sama.”

He noted the laughter sparkling in Sasuke’s eyes and did snort this time. “Are you not?”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Sasuke huffed. “Perhaps we can have peace after all this.”

( _Peace. What did it even mean? What was ‘peace’ worth without his brothers? Although. Tobirama…_ )

“Perhaps,” he agreed quietly, gaze once again straying toward Tobirama and Hiruzen. They had stopped working out, Hiruzen lying face down on the stones littered around the pond, while Tobirama met his gaze with a tentatively questioning one of his own. “We can talk of these matters later. In a few hours, I’m sure.”

Sasuke took the dismissal with a graceful bow and left, not even sparing his son a glance.

Tobirama followed the man’s retreating back until it disappeared behind the shoji before he moved to take his place, much to Hashirama’s surprise – and delight. The boy hadn’t sought him out on his own before.

“Was that Hiruzen’s father?”

“The resemblance is uncanny, isn’t it?” Well, aside from that baby fat Hiruzen had and would have for many years to come, and the beard and lines in his father’s face.

There was a troubled edge curling around the right corner of Tobirama’s mouth that demanded Hashirama’s careful attention. “Was he worried about his son?”

“Why would he…?” Hashirama trailed off, uncertain as he realized that – lips pursed nervously, eyes darting about without focusing on him, hands fidgeting in his lap – Tobirama was honestly concerned over this, over Sasuke possibly worrying for Hiruzen in Tobirama’s care. Which might be a fair worry considering that no one around here really knew Tobirama. But… “He trusts my judgement. I would never endanger a child under my protection.” Or any child unless circumstances hadn’t left him with another choice.

Red eyes squinted suspiciously at him. He let them scrutinize him, smiling warmly in return. Tobirama’s mistrust exceeded that which one might simply feel for an enemy, exceeded it by far. It wasn’t always directed at Hashirama’s person, at him being Senju, but most often than not at his kindness and gestures of affection. As if the boy waited for something else, something crueler, something more familiar to slip through.

But there were no cracks in Hashirama’s reverence.

( _The Uchiha’s seemed to have been littered with them, though, large and at every step, and wasn’t that proof enough that they didn’t deserve his mercy?_ )

Tobirama jerked back, a full body movement, expression crumbling momentarily. He gathered the impassiveness back as quickly as he could, bringing it up in another wall over his face to hide behind. To hide the tentative, pleased dusting on his cheeks. Warmth thrummed through Hashirama’s veins, chasing away any lingering coldness from the previous day. ( _It was fine, he wouldn't mention his wish to be called 'Anija' again, not yet, not until Tobirama had worked through his mustrust, nor would he discuss the Uchiha in front of the boy._ )

“You- you didn’t sleep!” Tobirama blurted in a poor attempt to change topics.

Hashirama reached for his tea and took a long sip of the sweetened beverage, covering up his amused grin. He needed to thank Hiruzen for softening up Tobirama to such an extent. It was endearing, and he wanted _more_. When was the last time he had genuinely enjoyed another person’s company like this? He adored Touka, he liked Sasuke well, there were the precious children always breaking into his house – but _this_. ( _Not since... Madara._ )

“I didn’t know you were paying attention.”

“I _wasn’t_ ,” Tobirama denied glumly. “It’s obvious.”

It really wasn’t. Hashirama didn’t even feel tired aside from the light drowsiness occasionally tugging at his consciousness. But Tobirama himself hadn’t slept much – the blue and lavender ajisai that grew outside the window of Tobirama’s room and peeked inside, decorating the windowsill, had let their displeasure at his fitful sleep carry toward Hashirama in abundance. Hence, he would have noticed Hashirama’s restlessness, as well. Hashirama would have helped him sleep if he had been allowed after their disagreement, but…

All humor drained out of him as he mulled over these facts. “I was keeping vigil over Touka. If someone from among the Senju passes, they need to be buried as soon as possible. No delays.” And the worry for his cousin, a first cousin, the last such close family, had roiled within him throughout the night hours, even suffocating the absolute rage directed at Izuna. ( _He had lost family before, it would have been a wound that would have healed, but she wasn’t dead yet and he couldn’t figure out how to help. They were cousins and there he had sat, just watching pathetically as she struggled with whatever it was perhaps pushing her toward the brim of death._ )

“The souls stay stuck,” he explained without any prompting, gaze unfocused. “Stuck in their dead bodies for as long as the body isn’t buried.” ( _It had taken him two days to find Kawarama deep within Hagoromo territory; two days of his baby brother’s soul stuck in a broken, disfigured body at the start of decay – that had been worse than the grief over loss itself._ )

“That sounds needlessly cruel,” Tobirama muttered. “What if the body gets lost?”

Hashirama shrugged. “We make sure to retrieve them. If we can’t… well.” It wasn’t a pleasant fate, to say the least. “We generally honor the graves of the dead, they are sacred, and the dead are said to feel whether someone remembers through this. So, they get a grave regardless, whether we find a body or not, just as a token.” A hope that maybe it would be enough to help the soul depart, at least after the body really couldn't be retrieved anymore. ( _His brothers graves were always surrounded by his flowers, vibrant and bright and elevated, and he tended to them with utmost care, as often as possible; they should feel, even in death, how much their Anija cherished them._ ) “Touka should be fine, though.”

She was still feverish but didn’t seem to be experiencing any pains when he had last checked on her. Her chakra had settled down considerably as well. Though, he couldn’t tell what kind of poison she was suffering from; it wasn’t anything he had ever seen before. Her chakra coils specifically had been a disturbing color of darkish brown and they hadn’t reacted well to his own, soothing chakra trying to do damage control.

Hashirama eyed Tobirama for a moment, considering, but… No. The boy was a Senju now and he wouldn’t prod him about anything Uchiha related, not even this kind of information. Besides, Touka’s health seemed to be improving, so it didn’t matter. He would find out, anyway, once he got a hold of Izuna. ( _And he would_.)

“You could ask me,” Tobirama eventually said as if having read his thoughts.

“I could,” Hashirama agreed, smiling gently, holding it when Tobirama’s gaze snapped up to finally focus on him. He could but he didn’t. It was fine.

Tobirama huffed, clearly ruffled, nose scrunched up in that adorable way he always did when puzzling over something. Hashirama couldn’t help it; he reached over, paused when Tobirama tensed but, when there was no indication that this was unwelcome, buried his fingers into soft, white hair.

Maybe it really was Tobirama’s relief for Izuna or Hiruzen’s stubborn company or maybe a mix of both – Hashirama couldn’t care less at the moment. He would take any scraps thrown at him and try to turn them into something more complete, bright and beautiful – at his own time and in his own way.

* * *

Tobirama was baffled to find out that Hashirama could and would cook. That he did so after returning from a war council in a strangely happy mood was concerning ( _terrifyingly alarming, actually_ ) but not as much of a surprise as watching the man flit around his kitchen while humming an annoying tune throughout the whole time.

He stared at the dishes laid out in front of him – a bowl of sashimi and those fish rolls he had been given back in the tent ( _he loved seafood but the Uchiha’s access to the seas wasn’t smooth anymore; no one’s was with the Senju having spread around the borders and cutting off any route to Mizu no Kuni_ ), there was miso soup, a plate of tsukemono pickles and steamed rice topped with what looked like a mix of vegetables, eggs, seaweed and bonito flakes. And were those mochi cakes? It smelled deliciously.

( _Tobirama had never learned how to cook, Izuna had tried it once, cutting himself more often than anything else, and Aniki… well. He managed. But nothing like this._ )

“These are amazing!”

Tobirama glanced toward Hiruzen who was already face deep into a bowl of probably everything. _Why_ was the boy still around? Didn’t he have a home to return to? Of course, he had, Tobirama had seen his father, but the man himself didn’t seem to be bothered by his son’s absence. And Hashirama didn’t mind, either. But it was still… odd. ( _Even odder that the boy's father didn't mind Tobirama teaching him; parents didn't trust him - or rather his misfortune - with their kids back home._ )

Wanting to learn things from him which would help the kid in his shinobi life, that he could understand. Although, dancing with the water didn’t actually qualify for this, though that was beside the point. But he had stuck around when Tobirama had gone to explore Hashirama’s sparse library ( _there hadn’t been any scrolls relating to jutsu but plenty about history and records_ ) and he ended up correcting the kid’s reading and writing ( _it had been pathetic how much he had struggled_ ). He had insisted on helping him apply that flowery scenting mixture Hashirama had left for him on his first day here ( _and how had the man even known that Tobirama had sensitive skin?_ ). And he had chattered constantly about matters of no interest while Tobirama had been busy with testing some harmless seals of his ( _supposedly; he had been more occupied with tracing the familiar chakra signatures on the other side of the Nakano, wondering what it meant that Aniki’s was burning more hotly than usual and Izuna’s was so still_ ).

The boy was beyond persistent.

Really, Hiruzen and Kagami would get along splendidly. ( _How might Kagami be doing? Was anyone checking up on him? Taking care of him?_ )

“You seemed to have enjoyed the fish rolls last time,” Hashirama said, snapping him out of his musings.

He blinked and focused on Hashirama opposite of him holding out the fish rolls. Tobirama took them, hesitating only for a split moment, and also loaded some of the sashimi. “They were alright.”

“They used to be Itama’s favorites,” Hashirama said wistfully. “Kawarama loved sashimi and sweets even more so.” Tobirama paused, food in his lap, a thick knot trying to push up his throat. “They didn’t like their food unless I made it, though. I haven’t…” He trailed off, grimaced, didn’t finish what he was saying but the implication was loud and clear. “So, I might be out of practice.”

Tobirama took a tentative bite of a roll and could taste Hashirama’s longing and… something warmer, gentler underneath the richness of texture and spices that exploded on his tongue. He swallowed, panicked for a second that it might get stuck due to the knot, and just stared at his fingers shakily clutching chopsticks.

Itama. Kawarama. Names ( _and one without_ ) that were always ghosting around Hashirama with such crushing pain that, at times, Tobirama ached so much he couldn’t tell whether it was his own or Hashirama’s emotion. It was unnerving how, whenever Hashirama spoke about his brothers, it felt like they had died only recently - Hashirama’s wounds throbbed freshly and his grief was numbingly intense even after all these years. ( _Tobirama wasn't sure if he fully understood, his own grief over his dead brothers was worse on some days and bearable on others; Hashirama's was a constant._ )

Then, he would look at _Tobirama_ like he did now, and his features would soften, and the wounds would be covered by a bandage of warmth and the grief would make way for unbridled joy. The man felt so strongly that his chakra never seemed to rest, nudging persistently against Tobirama’s senses even when they were not in close quarters.

He needed to stop.

Tobirama wasn’t his brother. He wouldn't call him 'Anija'. ( _His insides still recoiled recollecting that request._ )

( _Stop doing things for me that you only did for your brothers before_.)

“Is it not good?” And the guy had the nerve to look crestfallen, brown eyes wide with disappointment and lips pursed in thoughtful annoyance.

“It’s great!” Hiruzen exclaimed around a full mouth.

Tobirama whacked him on the head, disgusted. “Swallow first.”

“Sorry, sensei!” He didn’t swallow.

“I’m not-” Tobirama sighed, exasperated, deciding to ignore the brat. Kagami had some manners, at least. “The food is okay,” he said toward Hashirama, reluctant, not looking. “But you didn’t have to bother.” ( _I’m not your brother_.)

“Hmm, I know,” Hashirama replied in the same tone he had said _“I could”_ earlier and yet, hadn’t pressed him for information. “I simply wanted to, though. Not a bother at all.”

This whole situation was ridiculous.

How had Tobirama come from fitfully worrying about Izuna and cursing his captor to – _this_? Was it the sheer relief, a giddy thrum in his veins, over his twin being, most likely, fine for now? Was it that he could relate to Hashirama’s fear for his cousin? ( _His restlessness had been so distracting._ ) How could Hashirama strip him of his name, threaten to kill his family ( _and he was ashamed of having lost his composure so horribly the other day, of having allowed himself to be vulnerable over a word and some threats_ ) and still keep being kind to him?

Sitting here, being domestic with Senju Hashirama... What was he doing? ( _What else could he do?_ )

“Touka?”

Tobirama’s head snapped to the side, startled. Touka was indeed standing in the door, supporting herself on the frame, dark hair a tangled mess on her head. Tobirama hadn’t seen her when she was brought in, but she looked terrible. Not in the sense that there were any injuries he could locate, but she was so pale. Sickly pale that it almost bordered on white and her eyes were red-rimmed, a really dark red.

“Are you sure that you should be up and about?”

She nodded jerkily, then shrugged, the movements stiff.

There was no hostility in her gaze when it fixated on Tobirama.

“I didn’t hear the healers say that you could leave the bed,” Hashirama murmured. “But when do you ever listen?”

Her chakra felt oddly – sluggish. And there was _something_ … flickering within it. Like smoke thick in the air but intangible to touch, like low simmering heat during a lazy summer day and a cool current of viciousness streaming underneath it all.

 _Oh_.

Tobirama jerked with sudden, searing shock jolting through him. His knee hit the underside of the table, shaking it, causing droplets of miso soup to spill over the mochi cakes. _Shit_. “S-sorry, I…” He made a quick sign with his hands and moved his fore- and middle finger slowly to the left, taking the droplets along out of the cakes and back into the soup; they shook so much that he feared they would drop any second.

He barely heard Hiruzen’s delighted awe, the sound of his off-tune pulse too loud and too distracting in his hears. And Hashirama was watching, sharp and attentive, and another gaze was burning into the back of his neck, and-

( _He hadn’t had the time to test that poison, didn’t know how it might affect the victim further than subduing their chakra, didn’t know how it might affect Izuna, was he mad-?!_ )

Why was he even here? In the middle of enemy territory? So close to Hashirama when all Tobirama wanted for him was to be as far away as possible?

Because of _him_?

“Everything alright?”

He cleared his throat and forced himself to meet Hashirama’s gaze. “Just… surprised. She looks…”

There was a chilling hardness edging into Hashirama’s eyes as he regarded his cousin. The man wasn’t a sensor but… could he tell? Could his plants? The mere thought was enough to have panic bubble in Tobirama's chest. “Come here, Touka. Have a seat.”

She ( _he_ ) did, sat down stiffly at the side of the table that was between Hashirama and Tobirama. Didn’t make a move to take any of the food, though.

Tobirama felt something stir in the pit of his stomach, soft and wondering, almost overshadowing his growing panic. Had Izuna come for him?

But the plan.

Reality crashed like a crumbling wall into his bones, the hubris and dust, itching disgustingly, settling into his blood. Touka had gone seeking out Izuna, not the other way around. And he couldn’t have known that she would be brought to the clan head’s home to be treated. Nor could have known that Tobirama was here. And why would Izuna come looking for him? Especially now that they had a battle to win?

It made sense, though, to send someone to infiltrate the Senju’s compound and make it easier to catch them off-guard. And who better than Izuna for the job? To look for that weakness of Hashirama’s they wanted to target? The-

He startled when warm knuckles suddenly grazed his forehead once and resting there on the second time. Hashirama’s brows were pinched into a worried frown. “I can’t feel a fever but you’re really pale right now. And shivering. Are you sure you’re okay? Is it my food?”

The wave of icy resentment rolling off Izuna was such a dizzying contrast to Hashirama’s warmth that Tobirama’s vision blurred for a heartbeat. Kami, this had to look bad to Izuna, didn’t it? Here he was, eating the food Senju Hashirama had prepared for him; as if it was perfectly normal to eat at the same table as your clan’s greatest enemy.

“Probably the lack of sleep catching up,” he pressed out through his teeth.

Hashirama clearly wasn’t fooled. How could the guy read him so easily? It was unnerving. ( _Or maybe he was just slipping too often._ ) Still, Hashirama slowly withdrew his hand. “I’ll have tea brought to your room, then.” Gaze flickering toward the half-eaten portion in Tobirama’s lap, he hummed. “You don’t have to force yourself; you know?”

He meant it, voice sincere and eyes honest – but Tobirama could feel the disappointment slithering through his concern. It was infuriating. More so that he found himself considering the sashimi, thinking about Hashirama’s earlier words ( _and enemy or not, Tobirama knew the intimate pain of losing a brother_ ) and it would be weird, he was already behaving suspiciously, he…

Izuna was here. And he would definitely seek out the graveyard.

Tobirama stared at the sashimi and the two remaining fish rolls and froze, bile churning sickeningly in his stomach. He remembered how vibrant and intense Hashirama’s love and grief for his brothers was, remembered what the man had said about the Senju honoring graves, remembered how Hashirama wanted to have Izuna killed for attacking some patrols – and suddenly, his Aniki’s reluctance to use the Senju’s graveyard as a means to catch Hashirama off his game made so much sense.

Abruptly, Hashirama jerked to his feet, making him flinch back and Izuna tense.

“An intruder,” Hashirama murmured to himself rather than them. “Touka, please go back to bed." To him, he said softly, "Tobirama, if you’re not feeling well, you should go sleep. And Hiruzen… you can stay if you want.”

“Thank you, Hashirama-sama!”

Hashirama smiled at the boy, leaned over to touch Tobirama’s hair like he had done this morning and nodded at Izuna before he was gone.

And Tobirama just stared at the spot Hashirama had been sitting at, ignoring Hiruzen’s loud voice wondering whether he could have all mochi cakes, ignoring Izuna’s eyes searing into him, and wondered whether he would be able to keep his food down.

For all his intelligence, he might have started an unredeemable mess.


	8. VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't expect this to take so long. But I got distracted watching something, lol. Anyway, I think we're entering a really 'fun' phase of the story :p

**VIII.**

Tobirama wasn’t looking at him, not even after the Senju bastard had vanished, and Izuna wanted to break the freak’s stupid stoic face. That would at least get him attention, wouldn’t it? Instead, he curled his fingers into the edge of the table, trying to suppress that urge. ( _They didn't fight physically with each other, never sparred, either, had been forbidden from the latter._ )

The freak had recognized him, there was no question about that. His eyes had widened, the redness stretching with clear realisation. Though, Izuna hadn’t ever seen him lose his composure as easily as he had in that moment, fumbling like a fool and struggling for quick, deceiving words. ( _It had always been an amusing challenge trying to get reactions out of him but precisely because it was almost impossible_.)

Izuna understood that they couldn’t talk freely, of course. Wood, flowers, plants, this whole place was made of them, and he might not fully grasp how Hashirama’s powers worked, but he knew that the fauna somehow told their master things. Within Hashirama’s domain, nothing could be kept a secret from him. But the freak was not simply avoiding looking at or talking to him, no, he was lost in his own mind; unfocused gaze lingering on where Hashirama had been sitting, chopsticks agitatedly pushing around his fish rolls, lower lip sucked into his mouth.

He only noticed that he was clutching the table with too much force when a small splinter cut under his left eye. Startled, he snapped his arms away and frowned at the finger-shaped dents left behind. Why the fuck was this woman so strong? As if it wasn’t difficult enough to maneuver a human body, it was even harder to get a good feeling for Touka’s abnormal strength. He was pretty sure that he had broken the wrist of the healer who had been checking his pulse when he opened his eyes.

“You know that Hashirama-sama hates it when you do that!” the kid at Tobirama’s elbow said, pointing a half-eaten mochi cake at him. Or the dents. “He says that it hurts his friends!”

Izuna stared blankly at him. “Friends.”

“And you hurt him,” the brat nodded, pointing with more vigor.

“Does it hurt your Hashirama-sama too?” He made sure to add a good amount of sarcasm and bite to his tone to disguise his actual curiosity.

The brat scrunched up his nose in thought. “No?”

Too bad. “No reason to be annoying then.”

The brat shoved the remaining cake into his mouth and scowled darkly at him which looked ridiculous with his puffed-up cheeks. Who was that, anyway? The Senju plant bastard certainly didn’t have any children – and thank Kami for that, there was only so much crazy this world could bear.

He was startled out of his musings by a flash of white in his periphery. Tobirama reached for his wrists, had to lean on his knees, chuzara shaking dangerously on his lap, to do so. The barely contained fury blazing through him simmered to a low thrum in his blood under the cool touch. Izuna frowned at the light red scrapes on his palms that were being inspected. But Tobirama's fingers were twitchy and his grip a tad too firm, an obvious tell-tale of his twin trying to stall while he gathered whatever it was he wanted to say. ( _He touched only when Izuna was too restless to listen carefully._ ) He didn’t feel pain in his vessels but usually, he would still be aware of getting hurt.

“It’s not deep, just superficial scratches,” Tobirama murmured. ( _For all his intelligence Tobirama was rather hopeless in the healing field, but he had patched up enough wounds in the past to know what he was talking about._ ) “You should eat.” And as if it was normal ( _it was_ ), he placed his chuzara with the sashimi and fish rolls in front of Izuna and pushed it pointedly closer when Izuna didn't immediately reach for them.

Izuna didn’t acknowledge the food nor the gesture – he would rather starve than eat at a Senju’s house. How Tobirama had managed to without choking on every bite was a mystery to him. Although, considering how long his imprisonment was already lasting, maybe it wasn’t that big a surprise ( _the freak was weak, after all, and he would need all the energy he could get_ ). But from the small exchange between Tobirama and his capturer earlier, it seemed like Hashirama had cooked specifically for him – it had to have been for him since the madman himself didn’t touch anything - and he didn't know what to make of that.

First, Hashirama captured Tobirama. Forced his disgusting name on him. Made him his heir. And now this odd domesticity.

_“But Hashirama’s smitten with your freakish brother.”_

He squinted at the top of a white head, the only thing he could see of his twin since the idiot still refused to look at him, unease churning in his stomach. It might have seeped into his chakra, his growing agitation, because Tobirama winced ever so slightly ( _in a way he always did when Aniki lost his temper_ ).

Abruptly, Izuna jerked to his feet, his viciously petty side purring in satisfaction as he accidently knocked away the chuzara, sashimi and fish rolls decorating the floor close to where Hashirama had been sitting earlier. The brat, still chewing on mochi cakes, made an outraged sound, but-

“You should go home,” Tobirama said, voice firm with a hint of pleading swirling in it. “And rest.” _Leave_.

Izuna stilled, stunned. He was half turned away and glad for it because his hold on his own features slipped for a heartbeat. How _dare_ he?! Here he was in the middle of enemy territory, after going through the pains of provoking Hashirama, of fighting Touka, of taking over a living human body – and the freak was telling him to leave. Just like that. He knew the fucking plan, had designed most of it. ( _He knew he couldn't get out of here without help._ ) Why was he then insisting that Izuna leave? Some misguided sense of worry? ( _This wasn't even his real body, he could slip out of it any moment if he wanted to. There was no danger for him._ ) Was he getting soft in this comfortable cage Hashirama had put him in? 

“You were poisoned,” the freak continued, sounding more placating now that there was no reply. “And we don’t know whether the poison is still in your system or not and if there are _side effects_.” The last two words were laced with so much disapproval that Izuna almost snorted. But he was too angry to indulge.

“I’m perfectly fine,” he said curtly. And it was true, he hadn’t felt anything negative aside from Touka’s consciousness being an annoying stain in his periphery. They might not have had time to test this concoction before he had used it on Touka, but it couldn’t be that bad and definitely wasn’t worth breaking off their plan mid-way.

“You’re _not_ ,” Tobirama insisted. His words were trembling as if they would break at any moment. ( _It was a familiar pattern: during arguments, when Izuna or Aniki seemed ready to snap, Tobirama would try to placate first, then his voice would start to waver before breaking on frustration and his own anger which he usually swallowed up, rarely formed into words._ ) “You don’t understand-”

“Shut. Up.”

He did. But Izuna could feel tension radiating off the freak in waves and it was just fueling his own agitation more. He took a shaky, useless breath and forced his feet to move again lest his composure snapped – or that fool said something they both would regret. Tobirama wasn’t one to slip, but he had already lost his face once after seeing Izuna and was about to do so now again in the presence of Hashirama’s bloody spies.

What the fuck was wrong with that freak?

The last thing he heard as he left the dining room was that brat whining, “Sensei, she’s scary, why do you…”

 _Sensei_. His lips curled with disgust. Tobirama had a horde of children to teach back at home ( _he’d make sure to eliminate any protests about that for good_ ), he didn’t need Senju scum.

Finding his way out wasn’t difficult but Izuna couldn’t breathe easily even once outside. Hashirama’s house stood on an elevated patch of earth, almost like a hill but not quite, and around it stretched a sea of buildings – some on the ground, most on the huge trees sprouting toward the sky, connected by thick branches with each other. A buzz of noises carried upward, chatter, laughter, people trying to haggle prices, arguments between children, songs. The faint lines of chakra he could see accumulated here, in the heart of Hashirama’s domain, were bright and warm and even Hashirama’s creepy signature seemed more like a protective shield around them.

( _He couldn’t remember the last time he had heard children laugh so freely in their compound; death was a sword hanging over them constantly, food was sparse and the sooner one learned to wield a kunai and fight, the better their chances at survival. Though, that was a delusion more than anything else._ )

Resentment burnt through his veins. Maybe that was how Touka had felt when the poison had seized her – like her insides were being devoured by acid.

He walked down, each step slow and deliberate, and took in everything. _Go home_ , Tobirama had pleaded – maybe out of worry ( _always a sentimental fool_ ), maybe because he was getting soft – Izuna didn’t know and he didn’t care. If this failed, if he failed, there wouldn’t be a home to go back to. Not for him, not for Tobirama. It might not be there even if Izuna succeeded, of course.

Oh, but he would enjoy burning this disgusting illusion of peace that hung so heavily over this place. Why should the rest of the country be plunged into a void of misery and the monster who caused it all got to keep – _this_?

Izuna needed sacrifices. And then, he needed to find that blasted graveyard.

Everyone was waiting.

* * *

Somewhere in the distance, a bird screeched, cutting through the veil of tense silence that hung heavily over their party. It wasn’t anything alarming yet, Madara saw a movement in his periphery and before his mind, still caught in the mist of his musings, even grasped the action, he found himself pointing the sharp tip at the end of his gunbai under Hikaku’s chin.

His clansman flinched back and lowered his gaze in apology. “I- oh. Sorry.”

Madara heaved a sigh, willed the agitation that run underneath his skin like a thousand ants to stop eating away at the little patience he had and retracted his weapon. “What do you think you were doing?”

Hikaku frowned, troubled. He glanced behind Madara, certainly past the Kurama delegation toward where Hashirama’s forest loomed threateningly. “I mistook the signal.”

“Because your head’s not completely here,” Madara huffed. Blatant shame flickered over Hikaku’s features, forcing Madara to soften the edge to his words – especially since his displeasure seemed to add to the nervousness of the others whom he had taken along for this. “As I already said, we can’t do anything at the moment about Kagami. Just hope that the brat doesn’t die and focus so you don’t die, either.”

Hikaku had been on guard duty the previous night, so it was understandable that he felt responsible. But Madara knew Kagami and how sneaky the kid actually was despite his age, sneaking out wouldn’t have been such a hard task for him especially when everyone was busy. He would have had someone searching for Kagami, but he couldn’t leave the compound ( _with Izuna’s body_ ) unprotected and needed everyone who was fit at his side as well as with the several other groups loitering around different parts of the forest. Kagami needed to fend for himself for now.

“I know,” Hikaku sighed, taking another step back so that he was standing next to his cousin, Fuyumi. “I’ll be more alert.”

Madara nodded, satisfied, and turned around, briefly catching the curious gaze of a young Kurama shinobi.

The deadliest weapon of the Kurama clan was indeed one of the young boys Madara had seen with their Clan Head during the meeting with the daimyo. Madara couldn’t help but stare at the kid, Hideki, sitting cross-legged on a wooden log that had been carried all the way to here by four other men. He couldn’t have been older than Izuna which meant he might have been ten or even younger when their clash with the Sarutobi happened.

Child soldiers were common ( _not within the Uchiha, though, not anymore; children learned to fight so they could survive when it came down to it but Madara didn’t send them out into battlefields_ ) but from what Madara had heard of that incident, Hideki had been a lot more than just a simple foot soldier. And Madara was curious for there were a lot of rumors about the Kurama clan’s genjutsu and how the ability manifested within their best.

Kurama Yin noticed his staring and smiled, the deep red of her lips an unsettling contrast to her sickly pale skin. She left the huddle of her attentive clans’ people to hover close to Madara, not exactly standing next to him.

“You do not approve of Hideki, Uchiha-san?”

Madara shrugged. “He seems young.” ( _Though, hadn’t he been young too, once? Hashirama, as well, labelled prodigies when they were still children. Tobirama had been declared an Oni, in that other life, before he had reached maturity._ )

“Indeed,” she agreed quietly. “But when it comes to survival, we cannot be choosy with our weapons, can we?”

“He’s human,” Madara grumbled although, he knew what she meant.

Yin sighed, gaze focused back on Hideki, expression tight. “No one remains human during war, Uchiha-san.”

He thought of Hashirama, once so bright and hopeful, now the scourge of Hi no Kuni. Thought of Izuna and the darkness that swam beneath his easy laughter and mischievous smiles. Of Tobirama and the wicked ( _brilliant_ ) plans desperation wrung out of his sharp mind.

War, indeed.

A sudden, shrill row of crows whipped through the air, familiar, alarming.

There, high up in the sky, circling over a spot of the forest, deep within, was one of Izuna’s vessels, wings flapping wildly. Madara’s insides clenched painfully at the sight. He was aware that his brother could use more than one vessel at a time but those had always been animals – dead animals. Using a human put him under greater strain, and what if he lost focus because of this? ( _He might not understand this technique as well as Izuna and his twin did, but Madara wasn’t a fool that he didn’t grasp the basics_ ).

There was too much that could go wrong.

But at least, Izuna could slip back into his own body at any moment if the situation turned against them. It was a small comfort. ( _One he couldn’t even be sure that Izuna, stubborn and prideful, would grant him._ )

Madara lifted his right arm in signal. Hikaku and Fuyumi were the first to rush past him followed by more than a dozen other black figures. His own sharingan flared to life, the world around him tinted with red sharpness. It spun and spun until the tomoes changed, melting into each other, the pressure behind them building in a way that had ceased being uncomfortable a long time ago as the Mangekyo surged through him.

He tilted his head toward Yin who was tense, fidgety, watching him. “Good luck.”

She nodded and turned toward her own people, raising her hand in a signal Madara had no idea of what it meant. He rushed away, letting the agitation, the tension, the anger he had accumulated since the Inuzuka village incident wash through him, turning them into energy to feed his chakra.

When Madara landed in the middle of dense trees, a skeletal ribcage forming around him surrounded by burning chakra ( _he had known how to use the Susanoo when his sharingan had awoken, but it had taken years for his body to be strong enough to wield it in its basic forms_ ), the edges of the forest were already drowning in a sea of fire. He could sense it, the agitation in the energy that flowed through the earth under his feet and wondered how long it would take for Hashirama to arrive. And how much it would frustrate his old friend to choose one of the many wounds his precious forest was bleeding from.

He didn’t have to wait for long.

There were shinobi spilling out of the shadows like insects – the Hyuuga cretins most notably, he couldn’t place the others immediately, though, but Senju and Sarutobi he supposed – but they weren’t what demanded his attention. The tree closest to him bent down, its bare branches stretching out like arms during prostration.

The agitation pulsating through the forest was replaced with an eerie sense of calmness as Hashirama stepped down, hair billowing in the wind like the harbinger of tragedies to come. Hashirama wasn’t wearing any armor and the grip around his sword was lax, but his fingers were twitching dangerously. He didn’t even blink when he finally looked at Madara, just stared unnervingly with eyes full of loathing the ferocity of which had Madara’s skin crawl. ( _His once friend hated him, Madara was well aware of that, and they had fought countless times but never had Hashirama looked at him like_ this.)

When Madara’s own gaze landed on the figure still clinging to the crown of the tree as it righted itself again, the embers of his fury burnt away any discomfort. His lips pulled back into a vicious sneer. “Is kidnapping a thing for you now?”

“He came of his own accord.” Kagami’s guilty flinch proved the claim true as much as the boy trying to hide behind the branches. ( _Not that he was surprised_.)

Dark blue sizzled in his vision as arms and a head joined the ribcage around him, muscles and skin slowly papering over. “Oh, and did Tobirama as well?”

Hashirama’s expression shifted to something harder, colder. He looked like a statue carved out of stone. ( _He had been soft smiles and warm laughter once with hints of sadness and regret etched into his features; or maybe Madara was remembering wrongly, confusing this Hashirama with the one from another time for this much resentment surely had always been festering within the man even when they had been young and stupid._ ) “Do you really care?”

The question threw him off – more so the tone, dripping with so much venom that Madara was surprised it wasn’t searing through his very being.

“You never mentioned him,” Hashirama continued after a moment of silence. He wasn't talking loudly but the cackling of the fire seemed to mute when he opened his mouth to talk. His head was tilted to the side ever so slightly and he smiled, almost like a curious child if it weren’t for the lack of emotion in his smile. “He can’t be that important to you.”

 _Fucking_ \- His breath stumbled over the lump he hadn't noticed stretching in his throat, stumbled again when he inhaled a second time and on the third try, the fog of Hashirama's very presence dissipated completely from his mind. In its wake, he tasted resentment so bitter that he was surprised he didn't gag on it. “He’s of my clan!”

Hashirama raised his left brow, the gesture mocking. “Not your brother, huh?”

Madara froze and with him his Susanoo’s transformation did as well. What an oddly specification. Did Hashirama know? Did he remember the way Madara did? Was that it? But he had never given any indication of being aware of that different life. Hadn't taken action before meeting Tobirama himself. ( _Did it make any difference, though? Tobirama wasn't Hashirama's brother, not here, he didn't have any right-_ )

“It doesn’t matter, I suppose. He’s not your concern anymore.”

Madara snapped into motion, his pulse roaring violently in his ears, fury searing through his limbs, all a welcoming rush. Perhaps he loathed Hashirama just as much as the man did him.

( _He remembered hands drenched in Izuna’s blood, and remembered tiny fingers gripping his as their owner took his first, wobbly steps._

 _What made a brother a real brother?_ )

* * *

There were three graves, Izuna noted.

He realized it only after he had already started the ritual for Senju Kawarama and Senju Itama.

Since this one laid in front of the two others, he hadn’t paid it attention at first but – these three were isolated from the rest and the flowers decorating them were so vibrant and lively it was disgusting. There was no name engraved into the stone marking the newly discovered grave, oddly enough. Perhaps this was some kind of relative. Though, why would they receive the same attention as Hashirama’s brothers did? It seemed strange.

Did Hashirama have three dead brothers? ( _Aniki didn't talk much about his time spent at the Nakano as the Senju's friend, but Izuna was sure he had only ever mentioned two dead brothers._ )

Izuna let his gaze flicker toward the disturbed graves where his chakra had accumulated, dark lumps in the middle, kunais glinting within. Then, he stared past them at the third one, taking in the vines slithering over the empty stone like arms embracing it and the flowers with their chakra glowing warmer than anything else in this whole forest.

He focused, watched the lumps, once human still alive when the ritual had started and now formless masses pulsating with caged life-force, quiver and convulse and take on new shapes around the kunais marked by a bloody seal and brimming with stolen energy. Izuna didn’t know how stable this version of the reincarnation jutsu really was. Tobirama had altered this jutsu and modified it a lot over the years, never satisfied, worn out more and more with each version until he had stopped at this – modelled a little after Izuna’s own technique of taking over a living body. Although, the sacrifice ceased to exist as the fixated soul took its place in the newly formed body and used its life force and chakra as a stipulation for their own.

( _It had worked when Tobirama had tried it, but his twin hadn’t seemed pleased, not exactly, and neither had he continued to alter it._ )

Izuna hadn’t bothered to find more sacrifices; it had been difficult enough to find these as it was. People in this haven didn’t seem inclined to step out of line unless thoroughly provoked. But no one had come to stop him yet, not Hashirama nor any of his minions, not in this moment and not when he was collecting his sacrifices. That meant that he couldn’t have been obvious about his actions. And that Madara was distracting Hashirama well. For now.

Heaving himself to his feet, legs shaking like leaves in the wind, Izuna carefully stepped forward and collapsed on the grave, hand already fishing out another kunai. The earth rippled under him as if lightning shot through it, like it had the times before, and he wondered whether that was a signal or a language it used to communicate with its master.

One of the early versions of the jutsu used earth to fixate the soul. It wasn’t a stable method, but it did work temporarily. With that in mind, Izuna set to work – digging until he hit something solid that he could crack open with the weapon and shove it through the crack, coming back out with something white hanging on its tip. He had a sheet of paper to draw on and still some chakra left to use.

He was infinitely curious.

As the limbs of the Senju brothers twitched to life behind him, Izuna closed his eyes, freed his mind and focused on the soul connected to the body buried here.

* * *

In a house carved out of wood, Tobirama’s body seized with blazing pain, blood dripping down his throat as the screams ripping out of his mouth didn’t cease to echo through the forest.

***

On a battlefield drowning in fire, Hashirama’s head swiveled to the side and with it his back turned toward the blades of Madara's Susanoo as the incessant whispers of his fauna turned into a screeching cacophony of undistinguishable warnings – calling him into two different directions.


	9. IX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first two weeks of September are going to be especially busy for me so, it's highly possible that I might not be able to post the next chapter until after that. Let's see - just so you guys know :)

**IX.**

With every step that brought Hashirama closer to his home, the guilt cut deeper into him. It was a surprise that he wasn’t leaving a bloody trail behind.

He had sent Sasuke down to the graveyard to check on what madness had taken over Touka, what was wrong with his brothers’ resting places, and yet it seemed incredibly inadequate. He should have gone. No one else. ( _He had failed them in life, how could he fail them in death too?_ )

But Tobirama…

When he burst into Tobirama’s room, there was no one else around and Hashirama cursed his own short-sightedness in not keeping any servants. ( _He had been living alone for so long that it never occurred to him…_ ) His attention was diverted quickly, though.

A few feet away from the window, next to his futon, Tobirama was writhing on the floor, groans of pain rolling over his lips in waves. His face was drawn into a mask of raw agony and his nails were scraping over the wood underneath him, knuckles white with the force of it. And the ajisai, kami. Their desperate wailings a musical accompaniment to this horrifying sight of Tobirama basked in pain, ripping straight through his heartstrings.

He couldn’t breathe.

Hashirama stumbled forward, slid to the ground and gathered the boy into his arms ( _and didn’t think about how he had held three other bodies like this, lifeless, lost_ ). Tobirama’s nails latched on to him and he let them dig into his forearms and chest, barely noticing the stinging sensations, focus zeroed in on how Tobirama was throwing his head from one side to the other and arching as if he was trying to get away from something.

His groans were pitiful – hoarse and low and without any strengths behind them. How long had he been screaming?

He brought a trembling hand to Tobirama’s sweaty throat, took a small breath, one he wouldn’t choke on, and let his chakra charged with healing intent flow into the other. It was difficult to concentrate – the flowers wouldn’t stop wailing, the wood shook in agitation, and there was a different set of cacophony viciously pulling at his consciousness. They were yelling about graves and disturbances and where earlier the whimpers of the vines covering Kawarama and Itama’s graves had made him negligent in his fight against Madara ( _his left shoulder blade was still on fire and why wasn’t it healing?_ ), now the hysterical screams of his infant brother’s chrysanthemums were splitting his mind in two.

It was driving him mad.

Closing his eyes, he let the screams wash over him in the same way he did the excruciating pain that pulsated through him the moment he breached into Tobirama’s chakra channels.

Hashirama had never felt anything like this. His body was being torn apart, bloody cracks littering the insides and his very being struggling not to be squeezed through those cracks; didn’t quite fit through. And it ached. How was that even possible? Was this what Tobirama was feeling? That _wasn’t_ how iryou ninjutsu worked; he was supposed to see the damage not experience it himself.

It caught him completely off-guard.

And Tobirama’s chakra was all over the place, stretching into different directions at once, violent and crackling and twitching in apprehension when Hashirama tried to reach out. But it _was_ responding and Tobirama was ceasing his struggles slowly.

Determined to focus on the task at hand, Hashirama swallowed the acid burning in the back of his throat and allowed his own fidgety chakra to smooth over. He didn’t know what he was doing – there was no obvious wound he could make out nor was there any poison he could sense, but Tobirama was _hurting_. So, he made sure to be a soothing presence like the balm on a nasty burn. He was surprised that he managed even that much, that he was able to function – his consciousness was bleeding from so many wounds, after all; his brothers’ resting places, his forest, even the edges of his compound.

( _He didn’t experience actual physical pain when his fauna got damaged, but it still sent a jolt of lightning through his veins, the worse the damage the stronger the jolt, and left his nerves frayed for a while_.)

It didn’t exactly come as a surprise that the Uchiha and their allies would try to use their numbers in an assault. Hashirama had been expecting it, they had discussed this in the war council earlier that day. And although, it was frustrating to have those vermin rage through his beloved forest ( _he would retaliate in kind, had already set everything in motion for that purpose_ ), it hadn’t been an especially huge concern of his. Of course, he couldn’t be everywhere ( _but neither could they_ ) and the farther away his domain stretched, the harder it was to take action actively without exhausting himself too much. But did his enemies truly believe _he_ was the only one they needed to concern themselves with? As if the Senju and Sarutobi and Hyuuga and Hatake were jokes. That arrogance would cost them.

But Hashirama hadn’t been expecting these _distractions_. The timing…

Tobirama gasped, startling Hashirama out of his concentration, and jerked up into a sitting position, chest heaving. There was a greyish tint to his usually pale complexion and a sheen of sweat stretching over every inch of his exposed skin. Though, what had Hashirama pause in surprise were the markings – on Tobirama’s cheeks and chin, slithering over the backs of his hands and arms and probably more hidden behind his clothes. Dark red stripes standing out starkly against his sickly paleness.

Hashirama thought about the sensations earlier, his fuzzy mind creating the image of cracks inside that body through which something had tried to pull out the very life of Tobirama. His stomach churned uncomfortably and refused to settle the longer he stared at those markings. What was happening here?

Tobirama wasn’t moving away, he noted as an after-thought. Maybe the boy was trying to gather his wits, he did look out of it and so very confused when noticing the strange marks, but he was clinging to Hashirama, fingers bunched into the torn front of his yukata. Was seeking comfort in him. Yet, Hashirama was unable to be truly pleased.

The screams of the chrysanthemums had dimmed to low echoes in his head, and overwhelming worry immediately filled their void. He steadied Tobirama’s quivering back and let his fingers rub soothingly over one of his shaking shoulders.

“Alright?” Tired red eyes flit toward him, stared pointedly, eliciting a tentatively amused huff. “Stupid question, I suppose.”

“…hurts,” Tobirama eventually conceded hoarsely.

“I’d imagine,” he murmured. “Do you know what happened?”

Tobirama scrunched up his nose in thought, a crease forming between his eyebrows. There was… something. Hashirama couldn’t put his finger on it, but something had – shifted. It was there in the softer set of Tobirama’s features that lacked the coldness he could never really suppress when in Hashirama’s presence, in the subtle way he leaned in rather than away and how he was stretching out tendrils of his chakra, lightly nudging them against Hashirama’s as if he was searching for something.

Was he even aware that he was doing any of this?

“Don’t know,” Tobirama mumbled, the slightest hint of embarrassment carrying into his words. “I just feel weird.”

Hashirama scrutinized the boy carefully. He wasn’t sure what to think. Something had to have put him into such a terrible state but there was no time to really ponder over this. His nerves were on high alert and the flowers and vines from the graveyard were still calling him – had Sasuke not made it yet? – and they were under attack at this very moment. Truly terrible timing.

“Who was the intruder?” Tobirama suddenly asked as if he knew where Hashirama’s attention was straying to.

“It…” Hashirama trailed off when he realized that he had no idea what had happened to the Uchiha child. He could have sworn that the kid had latched himself to his back, much to his injured shoulder blade’s suffering, when he had taken off from the battle. But he clearly hadn’t been there anymore when Hashirama had reached his home. Not that it mattered right now; none of his own people would harm a child and neither would the Uchiha allies do anything to the kid.

Instead he chose what he was going to say carefully, “Not one person, I suppose. We’re under attack.”

A wince, subtle but present. Not any real surprise, though – and Hashirama couldn’t say that he was surprised by that, either.

He _had_ found Tobirama in the Inuzuka’s village, after all. And that had been a trap laid out by Madara, hadn’t it? Everything that was happening now was most likely part of that elaborate plan and hence, Tobirama knowing about it wasn’t shocking. ( _And if he felt queasy thinking about how every person in that village was supposed to die and what that implied about Tobirama’s presence there, about his fate if Hashirama hadn’t found him, then he didn’t let in on it._ )

“Come.” He gently pushed Tobirama off himself, turned his back toward him and stretched out his hands behind him. “Get on. I don’t think you’ll be comfortable running around.”

“You’re injured,” Tobirama pointed out, clearly reluctant.

“It’s nothing to be concerned about.” Although, it was strange that the cut hadn’t healed already, it wasn’t that deep a wound.

Tobirama still didn’t move. “Where are we going?”

“The graveyard. Something’s wrong, I need to check.”

Silence. When he glanced at Tobirama the boy was avoiding his gaze. His posture was rigid and there was a quizzical edge to the thin line his lips had pressed into. “You… came here. First?”

Ah. Hashirama looked away, chastised even if that hadn’t been Tobirama’s intention. It hadn’t been a conscious decision, to come here. The pull toward Tobirama had been somehow stronger, more urgent. Was it really that strange, though? He had carved a place for Tobirama into his life, losing him wasn’t an option. ( _Besides, his brothers had been such sweet souls. Surely, they would_ understand.)

Hashirama startled when bony arms wrapped around his throat and a body pressed itself against his back. He stilled for a moment, making sure that this was really fine with Tobirama, before he heaved them both to his feet, careful not to aggravate his own injury. He wasn't sure whether this was a good idea, he would prefer not to risk Tobirama coming into contact with any of the Uchiha, but he didn't want him alone and unguarded, either.

* * *

“What the fuck, Izuna?!”

Madara stared at the two little boys curiously wandering through the many tombstones spread over the graveyard. They were like shadows hovering in the distance, movements stiff as they intentionally tried to be as far away from him and Izuna as possible. He had seen the injuries littering their bodies – mortal wounds and yet, they didn’t seem to be bothered by them. And their chakra wasn’t right, either, flighty and dark and in turmoil, mixed in the faintest traces of Izuna.

( _He had known about the animals, it was hard not to with Izuna’s vessels, and of course Tobirama had also tried his Edo Tensei on humans, Madara had been aware, had seen the notes but… the boy had insisted that this wasn’t a jutsu that should be used. Ever._ )

His skin crawled uncomfortably the longer he looked at those kids.

Hashirama’s little brothers.

“Izuna!” He whirled around, only momentarily surprised when someone else’s face looked back, and glared. “This wasn’t the plan.”

Izuna lifted one shoulder in a lazy half-shrug. He was crouched down next to Madara, visibly exhausted but equally satisfied with himself. “This is much better. Too bad the third one didn’t work out.”

“Much more provoking you mean,” he growled. _Much crueler_.

Izuna’s – Touka’s – eyes flashed viciously, red bleeding into them. “We’ve got actual leverage on Hashirama instead of betting on sheer luck that he’ll be distracted enough for someone to get to him. This is amazing, you have to admit it!”

It made sense and perhaps that was the most infuriating part. Of course, they would have leverage on Hashirama now, yet… He didn’t like this. Not at all. ( _Brothers. That was what they had connected over, once, him and Hashirama._ )

“Why are you getting so worked up over this?” Izuna huffed. “Aniki, you’ve sent our own kin to their death just for a chance to take down Hashirama.” Madara _didn’t_ flinch. “We’ve done very questionable things before, we're shinobi! What does one more thing matter? This is likely our last shot at survival.”

If it were anyone else, any other beloved dead one resurrected, anyone else’s precious people, Madara wouldn’t have cared. Izuna was right, after all. They were beyond what was right and wrong, morals wouldn’t save them or their clan. But these were _Hashirama’s little brothers_!

They had been friends, once upon a time, in two different lives. Kindred spirits. That was long gone and Madara couldn’t tell whether there was a single corner of his heart left that would still soften for Senju Hashirama. Years’ of resentment and bitterness had roughened up every inch, made it hard and unforgiving. But…

( _He remembered days spent at the banks of the Nakano listening to memories dead brothers, watching silent tears spill – this Hashirama wasn’t a loud or ugly crier unlike his counter-part, was more composed and more serious – sharing dreams of peace, remembered extending a hand to this boy who didn’t have any brother left, naively offering to become one to him._ )

This war had tainted his relationship with Hashirama on every layer possible; their camaraderie, their dreams, each and every interaction of theirs was rotten in the aftermath of what the world had molded them into. Their losses, though... their grief over boys ripped from them too early – that had always remained intact, untouched. To Madara, at least. It wasn't something war could erase. ( _War was the very fertilizer that had grown the grief and with it a doomed brotherood._ )

From that other life, Madara knew what it was like to lose his last little brother. It had driven him to madness, the ache carved deeply into his bones, refusing to lessen. He had been surprised when meeting Hashirama for the first time that the boy hadn’t been consumed by the same bitterness. Pain, yes, there had always been so much pain surrounding Hashirama; even when he laughed, it echoed through the laughter. ( _He had never gotten used to that_.) But bitterness? Anger? Nothing.

( _Peace had been the driving force for the other Hashirama, peace and his desire to keep Madara at his side; he had loved Tobirama but – differently_.)

Madara had assumed that just like his counterpart this Hashirama was able to put his ideals and goals before his personal feelings. Until Tajima and the daimyo had messed up. ( _Until Madara had disappointed him in a way he couldn't forgive._ )

It had been like shattering a bottle that had been filled to the brim and watching its content spill – all the resentment, the anger, the grief over his brothers, everything started to spill out, consuming Hashirama. Even after all this time, Madara knew that Hashirama’s pain over losing his brothers hadn’t lessen. It was as intense as it had been when they had met and Hashirama shared it with the world.

Kami, what had Izuna done?

“Don’t tell me you feel bad for that bastard.” Izuna’s lips twitched into a disgusted grimace, his gaze hard. “He certainly didn’t feel bad when stealing the freak and doing kami knows what with him!”

The tone made Madara still. “What?”

Izuna stared off to where the little boys had ducked behind an extremely large tombstone. His expression was dark, making him look much older than he was. “Bastard’s keeping him at his home and being all domestic and shit. His fucking cousin said he’s _smitten_.”

Madara swallowed the unease clawing at his throat and forced his voice into steadiness. “Don’t be ridiculous, brat.” _They used to be brothers_.

“I don’t see any other logical reason!” Izuna growled and he sounded so incredibly furious. “The freak’s got nothing much to offer, they don’t know about his brain, they’re not using him as a bargaining chip or to blackmail us or anything. Hashirama’s clearly personally interested _in_ him.”

“Ridiculous,” Madara repeated, but it was less sure than before. Hashirama wasn’t planning on returning Tobirama, that much he had made clear. His interest didn’t stem from Tobirama being an Uchiha but- they used to be brothers. Although, they were not in this world but surely whatever Izuna was implying couldn’t actually be true. Impossible.

“He deserves this,” Izuna said fervently. “He’ll regret stealing from us.”

And Madara just – observed him. Hashirama had done a lot, killed many Uchiha, forced their clan into a pitiful position where they were fighting for their existence – and all Izuna wanted him to regret was capturing Tobirama? ( _Sometimes it threw him off how intense the attention Izuna laved on his twin was. It made him uncomfortable, at times._ )

Impatiently, Izuna’s gaze snapped toward the gates. “Where is he anyway? He should have been here already!”

Indeed. It had been an unwelcome surprise that Hashirama hadn’t been here before Madara. Surely, they hadn’t miscalculated? Although, at this point he wasn't sure whether he wanted Hashirama to come or not... 

* * *

They stumbled upon Sasuke’s motionless body close to the graveyard’s grounds. Hashirama faltered for a heartbeat, uncertain. Yet, he didn’t stop to check on the man, couldn’t make himself, not when he could hear whispers of Madara being behind those gates rising in front of him, of Touka having disturbed his brothers’ resting places, of some abnormal chakra signatures flitting around.

Kousuke should be arriving with his squad soon, anyway.

Tobirama became tenser once they had entered the grounds and Hashirama was reminded that the boy was a sensor. Perhaps it hadn't been the best idea to bring him along, especially now that Madara was here ( _who had sent Tobirama to his death, couldn’t call him his brother and yet, thought he had any right on him; whom Tobirama considered family_ ). But what else could he have done? What if another such horrible seizure struck Tobirama in his absence? Hashirama couldn’t allow himself too many distractions. Maybe if he wrapped this up as quickly as possible…

Hashirama froze mid-step upon seeing Itama and Kawarama’s graves _destroyed_. The flowers, the vines, the ground unearthed. His infant brother’s grave, the one before those two, was disturbed, a small hole visible atop of it, the flowers in disarray, but still intact. Kawarama and Itama though… Bile burnt its way up his throat.

He barely noticed Tobirama slipping off his back. Glanced only briefly at Madara leaning sideways against grand-uncle Hiashi’s tombstone, noting the conflicted anger shadowing his face, and Touka crouched next to him, face tilted upward as if they were old friends sharing secrets. His mind couldn’t fully grasp this image, too busy trying to keep the thick fog that was slowly wrapping itself around his consciousness at bay. It was a lost battle.

( _Father had never approved of him spending so much time with the dead, even less of how much he tended to the graves, considering it excessive and useless; Hashirama had accepted any punishment, from sparring to whipping to hours of kneeling, without stopping. It was his solace, a way not to let the grief bury him alive._ )

**How. Dare. They.**

“Tobirama.”

That had his bleary attention snap toward Madara.

The man had gone ashen pale and his sharingan was whirring wildly as it raked over Tobirama, pupils blown wide with disbelief as if he was seeing a ghost. There was also a steely edge to his tone, cold rather than cutting. Tobirama stiffened where he was kneeling next to Hashirama, his shoulders tight with what seemed like apprehension and expression on the verge of crumbling but held together by his sheer unwillingness to let it slip. ( _None of his own brothers had ever looked at him like_ this.)

Tobirama’s gaze flitted toward him momentarily, unsure, before it lowered toward the ground, fixated on the dirt his fingers were aimlessly moving through. His voice, when he spoke, was nothing but a whisper, almost drowned out by the howling wind, but Hashirama heard and it set his chest aflame, so sudden and painful that the shock cut through his fog.

“…Aniki.”

“Don’t.” The earth shook under Hashirama's feet, resonating the emotions warring within him. Tobirama flinched but didn’t move away, didn't try to go over to Madara and foolish as it was, that let him breathe a little more easily. Madara finally stared at him, expression unreadable, and Touka heaved herself to her feet, slowly, deliberately – she didn’t move like Touka did, didn’t hold herself like his cousin did and was he going crazy or did her eyes seem reddish in the light? “Don’t call him that.”

Madara pulled his lips back into a sneer, teeth bared. “He can call me whatever-”

“He’s _mine_ ,” Hashirama cut him off. Tobirama made a strangled noise, something between a gasp and a groan, but it wasn't a denial, was it?

“-he wa… what?” Madara scrunched up his nose ( _not like Tobirama, it wasn’t half as cute_ ) in disgust.

Hashirama looked back at the destroyed graves, heat washing over him. “I’m really sick of you touching what's mine.” He had touched Hashirama's dreams of peace, once upon a time, and trampled on them as if they were dirt. He had touched his forest. Dared to touch his brothers' resting places. Hashirama was sick of it, of Madara, sick and tired. Wouldn't allow him get his slimy hands on anything else.

There were other people approaching fast – Kousuke’s group the only familiar one among them. The others were fewer but hostile, his plants recognized Nara Shiko and Inuzuka Hibeki and the Shimura clan head among them. The right corner of his mouth twitched up into a wry, humorless smile. He couldn’t decide whether it was bold or incredibly stupid of them to think they could face him _now_ , while leaving their own shinobi behind.

“It was a mistake,” he said, addressing both of them, fairly sure that that was not his cousin at the moment. “Coming here and…” A lump of thick fury had him falter, and he needed a moment to compose himself. Yet, his words trembled. “How dare you touch my brothers?” ( _Howhowhowhow_.)

Not-Touka growled, the sound vicious, her features covered by a fury that was too cold for his cousin's hot temperament and- he had seen that expression before. On another face. “Rich coming from you, you fucker!”

He took a step forward, chakra crackling under his skin. Another, and Madara pushed himself in front of Touka, Mangekyou glowing dangerously. A third, a quick flick of his wrist and a thick, thorny vine shot out from between Madara’s feet, snapping around his throat like a leash.

Madara choked, shocked, hands flying up to claw at the vine – Hashirama felt a thrill of satisfaction at the sight. Not-Touka rushed forward, or tried to before the earth split between them, a circle of wood caging her in, cutting off her startled, “Aniki!” Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Tobirama struggle up though, he hesitated – didn’t try to help Madara, didn’t try to stop Hashirama, maybe too stunned, maybe too shocked. Hashirama didn’t care beyond being grateful because he didn’t know what he would have done otherwise.

He wouldn’t have brought Tobirama all the way over here if he had known that Madara would be foolish enough to breach into the graveyard. But what was done was done, and it was a good enough opportunity to-

“Anija?”

Hashirama’s heart stopped. Just for a split moment, it stopped and the world around him stilled along with it. The vine around Madara’s throat loosened its hold. He blinked, absent-mindedly noting how Tobirama was gripping his arm suddenly, tilted his head ever so slightly, gaze sweeping over rows of tombstones until it settled on the bare tree in a far corner next to the gates.

When his heart beat again, it fell into an unsteady, rapid rhythm, one that had nausea twist in the pit of his stomach, worsened by how everything around him started to spin.

Was this what it felt like to lose the last shred of your sanity?

“Anija,” the little boy repeated. Scared, he sounded _scared_. “What…?”

Hashirama stared. Stared at the brown hair and the scar on the right cheek, at the arm bent backward in an unnatural way and the cut on the torso that went almost through completely and the light spots marring some of the visible skin. Stared at another child peeking over the shoulder of the first one, at the dual coloration of his hair.

He was going mad.

Tobirama gasped, the grip around his arm tightening, surprisingly strong – it jerked Hashirama out of whatever trance he had been in. Barely. Enough for him to hear his senses screech in warning.

A swooshing sound to his left, chakra cutting through the air.

He pushed Tobirama out of the way, using too much strength in his haste, and twisted to the side – but not fast enough, unable to avoid being hit by the flat surface of the Susanoo’s sword as it chased him, its sharpened edge grazing his abdomen. It didn’t hurt, though. Nor did the impact against a hard stone that stopped his fall. He did grit his teeth as his shoulder blade flared up but even that wasn't bad. Pressing both his palms next to whoever’s grave he had landed against, he pushed his upper body up and squinted as the world around him still refused to stop spinning.

“Hashirama-anija?!”

Desperate, Hashirama pinched his eyes closed and _prayed_ \- ( _They were dead, they were dead, they were dead._ ) They were rushing toward him, the boys, the ground told him haltingly, and Hashirama was going to throw up. They couldn’t get close to him, he couldn’t…

 _The Kurama_ , he thought faintly. They were part of Madara’s alliance as well, were they not? He had seen them with the Uchiha earlier. A genjutsu…?

Madara and his minions had transgressed into his territory. Entered the most sacred place within the heart of his forest. Dared to touch his brothers’ graves. And now – _now_.

His fingers dug into the softened earth, disappearing up until the knuckles, and he fed his fury, his rage, his resentment into it. Let it spread throughout his whole forest and listened to it quiver and rise in response. He lifted his head, unperturbed by his long strands obscuring his view, and watched as the two boys still approached, albeit hesitantly.

Their eyes were soft and warm and so, so concerned.

( _“Anija! Anija! Anija! Look, look, I caught the fish with my hands! But eww, it’s soooo slippery.”_

_“Did I mess it up, Hashirama-anija? The jutsu’s really hard! And your scar’s not healing at all! I’ll get a salve, okay?”_

_"Hashirama-anija... I don't want to go out today, I don't feel well. But father..."_

_"You worry too much, Anija. It's just a courier mission! I'll be back before you know it."_ )

They shouldn't have dragged Kawarama and Itama into this. ( _He was disgusted with himself for the pang of betrayal rippling through him; what was there left to feel betrayed by? Was he that pathetic to still have had any expectations of Madara?_ )


	10. X.

**X.**

They would die.

Tobirama knew it as soon as he recognized the raw mania glinting in Hashirama’s eyes. He could feel it in the wild, violent quakes of chakra rippling through the earth underneath him. Aniki and Izuna and all these shinobi just reaching the graveyard would die. ( _And if a part of him could understand – after all, who wouldn’t lose it if their enemies started to drag their dead loved ones into a war? – then no one needed to know._ )

Panic stretched through his throat, replacing the air in his lungs. The ground he was standing on, the gates, the graves and plants – everything was alternating between clearing and blurring. Yet, his senses were sharp. The images they created were so clear and contrasting his unsteady sight that it made him nauseous.

Or maybe that was the terror slowly dissolving into his veins.

He couldn’t make out who the newcomers were before the first one of them barely touched the ground as he was swallowed by it. His screams echoed through the heavy silence settling around them, loud and yet unable to cut through the oppressive atmosphere.

Hashirama hadn’t moved, though. Hadn’t even raised a finger. ( _Shinobi no Kami they called him, once reverently, now in terror._ )

Aniki’s Susanoo, large and proud and exuding power, seemed like a flickering shadow in the wake of the hostile energy blowing through the graveyard. And wasn’t that just disturbing? Despite having known that Hashirama was stronger, seeing the proof clearly in front of him left Tobirama disoriented. In his mind, his brother had always been the definition of strength, even after defeat upon defeat ( _it took immense strength to push forward regardless of the hopelessness of the situation, did it not?_ ), but right now there was uncertainty in the stiff set of his shoulders and fear ( _not for himself though, that much Tobirama was sure of_ ) seasoning his chakra bitter.

Izuna had kicked a hole into his wooden prison but not big enough to slip through yet. He was furious and thrashing the same way a cornered animal would. He definitely wouldn’t leave willingly now no matter how bad the situation was turning, and that terrified Tobirama. 

Then, as he heaved himself back to his feet, ignoring the uncomfortable stinging sensation cutting through his back - it had collided against the sharp end of a tombstone earlier - Tobirama saw it: tendrils of Hashirama’s volatile chakra reached for his resurrected brothers as well.

Stunned, Tobirama just stared.

They had been ecstatic when recognizing their Anija. Their slippery signatures ( _they always slipped through his senses, the signatures of resurrected souls, like a flapping fish would out of his hands; staying long enough to feel but not to get a hold of it - it was_ wrong) had vibrated with excitement as they had tried to approach him, the one with the scar on his cheek in front, the other one ( _half of his hair was as white as Tobirama’s…_ ) clinging to him in confusion. But there were thick roots slowly cutting off their path. Some, when they walked too closely, even lashed out in warning. Hurt was seeping into their other emotions, shockingly intense, needles pricking into Tobirama’s throbbing temples ( _an older brother’s callous disregard was a hurt he had experienced so many times himself that it was sickening to witness_ ).

Tobirama couldn’t wrap his mind around this. Those _were_ Hashirama’s little brothers, were they not? Yet, Hashirama wasn’t looking at them and neither was he reacting to their calls nor stopping his powers from threatening them.

Izuna had probably resurrected those two to have leverage over Hashirama ( _oh, his stupid, foolish twin, always acting viciously_ ), and as abhorrent as the concept was, the idea behind it should have been a solid one. Tobirama knew how much Hashirama still ached for his brothers, after all. Why, then, was he behaving like this? Going as far as threatening harm? Scaring them more than they already were? ( _And if their cries for their Anija and the terror and confusion trembling through their unsteady signatures made his own chest ache with a familiar ache, he didn’t dwell on it._ )

Unbidden, he found himself staggering toward the little boys and pretended not to notice how part of his Aniki’s attention snapped toward him. Displeased. Always, always displeased.

There was a dog barking somewhere close by and the trees at the edges were twisting and growing, and dimly through the thudding of his heart, he could hear cries and screams in the distance.

It was instinctive – they were children in the middle of a battle that was about to turn really ugly, and he had never been able stomach kids being put in danger. Although, rationally, Tobirama knew that they were already dead and they couldn’t die easily again, but they _could_ feel pain in those new bodies of theirs. It was a detail Tobirama had never been able to fully work out: physical pain, once inflicted, stayed. The resurrected souls were stuck with it for as long as they were bound to this world.

That had been one of the many reasons why he had dropped this specific experiment. ( _Sora-nii had been the real first human he had successfully resurrected, alone in the middle of the night during a bitter winter, and the images of his brother’s body frozen in its state of death still haunted his nightmare as much as the wails of pain-_ ) Tobirama didn’t expect compassion from Izuna, not anymore, but he had hoped that his twin at least understood that this wasn’t a jutsu to be used, not even against enemies. An Uchiha with his vast seas of emotions, so easy to be swept away by waves of hatred stirred through the loss of a loved one, should understand, shouldn’t he?

The one with the scar noticed him first, his head swiveling toward Tobirama the moment he had moved. It made him pause for a heartbeat, surprised. He had the same eyes as Hashirama, just a little softer.

“Step aside,” Tobirama told them gently as he hovered close by, uncertain what exactly to do. “You really don’t want to get hurt.”

They scrutinized him suspiciously but didn’t step away. Tobirama could make out a panic lingering within them that he had sensed in every soul he had ever resurrected. Being in the Pure Lands one moment and in the physical world the next with a brother they remembered adoring them ready to harm them… it had to be jarring.

Tobirama wanted to assuage their fears, to get them away ( _Perhaps, Hashirama didn’t realize what he was doing, and would be devastated once his rage settled_ ). Yet, before that thought had fully formed in his mind, something seized him around his waist and hauled him past the two Senju right in front of Hashirama.

It wasn’t a tight grip, rather gentle from something as rough as a root, but the motion had his vision swim momentarily. When it sharpened, that maniac gaze was focused on him so intently that he almost flinched back in surprise. Madness. When had he forgotten that simmered underneath that collected front of Hashirama?

In the back of his consciousness, Aniki’s chakra was roaring, wild and unsteady, and in his periphery, he could see the Susanoo struggling between the teeth of what might be a huge venus flytrap, barely able to keep them from snapping around it. Between Hashirama and Aniki and all the signatures in his sensing range that kept flickering out – it was hard to focus on anything. But Hashirama demanded attention like no one else did.

“Did you _know_?”

Tobirama could feel himself being dragged under by the sheer anguish swimming in Hashirama’s eyes. It was ridiculous. Just because the man had declared him a Senju didn’t make him one, he had no obligations to that clan nor Hashirama, especially not if it came down to his own family. Yet, the guilty swell in his chest was persistent. And terrifying, as much as his senses leaning into Hashirama’s suddenly familiar chakra to seek comfort earlier when he had awoken him his unbearable seizure. Or his feet refusing to carry him to his own brothers and instead, pulling him toward the Senju.

What was wrong with him?

“Answer me, Tobirama.” There was a wet, gurgling gasp somewhere close behind him. He didn’t dare turn around, didn’t dare look away, but someone had just died. “I told you about the graves. Did you use that against me?”

He blinked, caught off-guard. _Oh_. “No!” His gaze swept back toward Hashirama’s brothers who had at least stopped trying to get past the barrier. The relief wasn’t enough to dampen his regret, hot and searing, at the sight of the little Senju’s battered appearance. “I… it’s not- I didn’t know they would use the resurrection jutsu!”

Hashirama stilled and with him, the whole forest stilled as well. “Resurrection?”

“It’s not supposed to be used. The dead should remain dead,” Tobirama said, frustrated. There were more things wrong with this jutsu than right, and Tobirama had carried out many experiments until forced to accept that fact. Beside the imperfections of the new bodies, a soul, especially one that had been disconnected from the physical world for too long, would never come back the right way. The Senju brothers seemed fine so far, but Tobirama knew better than to trust that.

Suddenly, he was dropped none too gently and Hashirama stumbled back a step, white as a sheet. “It’s not a genjutsu?”

“What? No.” Had Hashirama believed this to be an illusion? That would explain a lot. He looked around, unable to lock gazes with the man. ( _The Edo Tensei was one of his biggest shames._ )

The one who had been killed had the Shimura crest right next to where a thick root shot out from his chest; he was still hanging limply in the air, blood dripping down like it was watering the soil. The Inzuka’s dog was tangled in a bush full of thorns, it’s pained howls loud, forcing the Inuzuka to pull harsher on the thorns almost as if in a frenzy. The plant wasn’t trying to eat Aniki anymore, but it wasn’t releasing the Susanoo either.

“Edo Tensei is a jutsu to bring back the dead. But…” The boys were approaching tentatively now that the roots had stopped moving and thus blocking their way, almost shyly but definitely not scared of Hashirama. “It has too many deficiencies. Don’t hurt them, their new bodies can’t forget any pain they experience.”

If possible, Hashirama paled even further.

“Anija? What’s happening?”

Hashirama could be very open with his emotions but Tobirama had never seen him like this – so vulnerable. Awe and hope swept away the last remnants of mania, softening his expression. Though, he was still white around the nose when he knelt down and stretched out his left hand toward one brother. His mouth was twitching as if it wasn’t sure whether to smile or not. “Kawa?”

There was no hesitation in Kawarama when he took the offered hand, although Hashirama froze for a moment as if wanting to make sure this was real. ( _He knew that feeling well._ ) After what seemed like ages, he pulled Kawarama into a crushing hug and dragged the other one, “ _Itama_.”, in as well. It was an awkward tangle of limbs more than a hug, but they seemed comfortable. Hashirama’s radiating warmth was tingling his senses, and burning uncomfortably in his own chest.

These were Hashirama’s _real_ brothers. And he felt strange gawking at them.

It should have been relieving because Hashirama could stop searching something in Tobirama that wasn't there. There would be no reason for him to want Tobirama around. ( _He didn't care._ ) But this wasn't reality in the way it should have been, and he dreaded Hashirama realizing that.

And then, abruptly, there was another dizzying change in the air – it dropped into freezing temperatures. Tobirama winced, ice prickling through his veins, the throbbing in his temples intensifying unbearably. What? He eyed the Senju brothers, shocked.

Itama had buried a kunai into Hashirama’s already bleeding abdomen. Where had he gotten that from? The kid's face was terrified and tear-stained whereas Hashirama just stared down, stunned. Kawarama choked out a strangled gasp as his own hand fished out a dagger from within the band of his pants. Tobirama could taste bile as he whirled around.

“Izuna! _Stop_!”

Izuna, arms and legs scratched up where they were exposed and pieces of wood stuck in that short hair, scowled at him, dark and warning. His features ( _Touka's_ ) were twisted into hard edges and scathing resentment. ( _Wild. Crazed. Unrestrained._ ) “Stay out of this.”

“They are children!”

“Shut. Up!”

“Hashirama-anija? I- I can’t control…”

Tobirama pinched his eyes closed, his heart aching. The Edo Tensei had never been intended to be a weapon despite its potential ( _despite everything he had done during his experimentations_ ). He had only wanted to bring _them back_. Maybe then, Aniki and Izuna could have stopped blaming him for their deaths. Maybe he himself could have. It certainly would have proven that he wasn’t as accursed as everyone said, he had thought, and he had just wanted them back so badly ( _terrified because his memories had started to blur, terrified that he would forget kinder times and loving brothers_ ).

But he couldn't, wouldn't avoid his own doing and so, he watched the tears spilling freely over Itama’s cheeks as his body refused to listen to him, to withdraw the weapon. Kawarama wasn’t crying yet, but his voice, murmuring too lowly to make out words, was trembling with horror. They were _children_. Innocent children who had been traumatized by death once, and again by being dragged back into these bodies and now- ( _Was this the depth of Izuna's own darkness?_ )

Perhaps his curse was worse than he had realized.

Hashirama, though. He was focused on Izuna, gaze blank. If it weren’t for the slight tremors in his shoulders, he might have seemed almost unbothered by his wounds. “So, you… ah. I see. What happens if I kill you?”

Izuna’s mouth curled into a taunting smirk. “They die as well.”

“But we are already dead!” Kawarama snarled angrily. “What does it matter?”

The stricken look ghosting over Hashirama’s face said that it mattered _a lot_. Of course, it did. The man had never gotten over losing them the first time. Now, risking losing them a second time? It would destroy him completely. ( _Oh, Izuna had played his cards well. Or was it Aniki?_ )

Hashirama lurched back when Kawarama swung his dagger, too long in those small hands and lacking strength and experience, and winced when he simultaneously dislodged Itama’s kunai. Tobirama could smell the apprehension on him. The uncertainty. But his brothers’ distress was louder and grated more persistently against Tobirama’s nerves. Accusing.

None of them noticed the blue flames Hashirama had stepped into – a faint flicker that burst to life at first touch, eliciting a pained, surprised noise from Hashirama. And there were more, thunder cracking in the distance before yellow-and-blue illuminated the graveyard as lightning whipped toward Hashirama. ( _Raijin._ ) It was fast, blink and miss it, but Hashirama saw and threw his arms up in order to erect a protective barrier of wood, back turned toward Itama and Kawarama. It was shaky, though, and not very strong, catching on fire too easily and rapidly. Hashirama was clearly distracted.

Tobirama stiffened when his Aniki stepped up behind him, the Susanoo looming over him had the hairs on his neck stand up. So close, Aniki’s chakra was fraying his nerves, and with them already raw it _hurt_.

“Aniki-”

“I don’t want to hear a word,” Aniki cut him off coldly. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“But this isn’t right!” he insisted, unable to look away from that wall of black fire, unable to ignore the distress and anguish and resignation throbbing behind it. His throat was too tight, the words coming out too high, too choked. “His brothers…”

( _Hashirama hadn’t ever considered using him against his family, no matter how futile that might have been._ )

“ _You_ designed this plan.”

Not all of it, not this. “The Edo Tensei-”

“Is the best thing you ever came up with, so just shut it, freak.” Izuna hadn’t moved an inch from where he stood and Tobirama wondered whether he could. Had he reached a limit? His expressions remained furiously animated, though. “Or are you honestly sympathizing with that monster?”

( _They were all monsters, were they not? Killing to survive, killing for minimal chances at victory, desecrating the dead… who wasn’t a monster in the middle of war?_ )

Aniki walked past him, arm raised for another strike with his Raijin although, it was already trembling with the exertion. Tobirama didn’t think, just latched on that arm, digging his fingers in pleadingly. ( _Aniki didn’t like being touched by him and he had long since made his peace with it._ )

The Mangekyou Sharingan was glowing so intently that at first, Tobirama believed it was actual blood spreading in his Aniki’s eyes. He was furious, the sharp set of his jaw, the heat scorching his aura, the Raijin flames burning so hotly, all singing of his fury. And perhaps Tobirama was clinging to him so he wouldn’t flinch back as habit was screaming at him to do. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

( _I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know!_ )

“Please.” He had no idea what he was pleading for. Or why. But it was hurting where Hashirama’s chakra had touched his, and his chest was being crushed, and he just wanted everything to stop.

Aniki sneered, not angry but disappointed, and Tobirama was sure that his ribcage had to be broken by now. “Pathetic. How dare you plead for our enemy’s life? One would think that you’d at least have some Uchiha pride in you if nothing else!”

Nothing he hadn’t heard before. It wasn’t supposed to still sting.

“He’s killed our allies. He was going to kill us. I didn’t hear you say much then.”

 _He's not my-_ “Aniki…” He trailed off, breath hitching when he saw Hashirama stagger out through the flaming blanket. The ends of his long hair were burning, and there was so much blood drenching his yukata that it had Tobirama’s stomach roil sickeningly. Soot and dirt made it difficult to see his face.

Aniki tensed, the arm under his grip twitching, but Hashirama didn’t attack. He wasn’t even paying attention to anyone – sagged down to the ground, clutching his head, energy sizzling around him dangerously. Wrongly.

Tobirama watched, horrified, as roots and vines and wood and flowers piled up around the man, swallowing him slowly into a protective cocoon. He could see something reach into the fire, could see Itama being dragged into the cocoon, followed by an unconscious Kawarama. What was happening?

“I can’t…” Izuna growled in frustration as he went through several seals, each one causing his frown to deepen. “What the fuck is this?!”

“I can’t sense them either,” Tobirama murmured, lost.

Aniki stared at that thing, that cocoon pulsating with chakra that was growing more and more as if being sucked out of somewhere else. He stared at Tobirama and Izuna, clearly displeased, the slightest bit panicked. “I don’t like this. Izuna, get out!”

“But Aniki-!”

“It’s an order.”

That made him falter.

“Aniki.” Tobirama blinked, unsure if he was going mad but – the forest surrounding the graveyard... The trees were losing their leaves – leaves which were turning black even before hitting the ground – at a rapid pace. And… whereas it had been calm before, now he could feel signatures flickering out of existence all over the forest again- it was uncomfortable and dizzying. “Aniki, look.”

His brother did, his expression only darkening. “Shit. Izuna, out! _Now_!”

He didn’t have time to check whether his twin complied – something wound itself around his right ankle and _pulled_.

“Oi!” Aniki reacted fast, had an iron hold on his arms but the root was persistent. Yet, he barely noticed the stretching over the thunderous beating of his heart. What _was_ this? The same thing that had grabbed Kawarama and Itama? Tobirama imagined being swallowed into that cocoon. It was bad enough from the outside, the depth of ever growing, active chakra whipping painfully against his senses. But being surrounded by it? Dread tugged at his gut at the mere thought, it only increased his attempts to yank at his burning leg. “I can’t believe this. Greedy bastard, let go!”

The Susanoo cut through the root, the lack of an opposing force sending Aniki tumbling back and Tobirama crashing on top of him with a pained groan. They remained like that for a moment, both trying to catch their breaths, Tobirama willing himself to stop shaking.

“I have no idea what’s going on,” Aniki huffed. “But I think we need to _go_.”

A glance over his shoulder revealed that Hashirama’s cocoon had grown larger and managed to put out the flames of the Raijin – which shouldn’t be possible, even Aniki couldn’t do that, they had to burn their target to crisp and ashes first. And the forest, it almost seemed like it was dying and everything within it alongside it. Did that mean that _Hashirama_ was dying?

“Come on.”

He slid off Aniki but didn’t make a move to follow his brother. Something was nudging at the back of his mind and rooting him where he sat.

“ _Tobirama_. I tire of your disobedience.”

He lowered his gaze, stared at the cracks bursting open over the earth. “I just think…” He had no idea. His body had been weird ever since that seizure and his mind seemed to be following those same steps.

Aniki growled, low and irritated, before bending over him and, without giving him a chance to process, heaved him unceremoniously over one shoulder. Tobirama was too shocked to do or say anything but watch his surroundings grow distant: the crumbling ground, Touka’s unmoving body, the Inuzuka’s dog still caught in a prison of thorn with its master nowhere in sight – faster when more vines and roots sprouted out of the cocoon.

( _He couldn’t remember the last time his Aniki had touched him willingly._ )

* * *

When Izuna emerged back into his own body, light-headed and dizzy, it was to the sight of ashes raining down on him and fire sizzling all around him. Thick smoke was creeping into his lungs. There were screams in the distance, he realized belatedly. Screams that were slowly penetrating his still ringing ears. Children. Women. 

Izuna felt the blood freeze in his veins.

The Uchiha compound was burning. And…

Steel against his throat where his pulse was loudest. “It’s nice of you to finally greet me, Uchiha-san.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( _Raijin_ is a (Shinto) God of lightning, thunder and storms.)
> 
> I don't know what to think of this chapter, lol. It is, what it is. I'm not sure if I'll be able to get back to updating as regularly as before (studies) but we'll see. I'm pretty excited about where this is going, though :D Thank you for reading and leaving kudos and comments! ❤️


	11. XI.

**XI.**

Dark flakes circled Madara’s ankle as he stepped into the sea of ashes. It was still radiating heat.

In his periphery, he could see the shadows of corpses laid out in rows, burnt and charred, but he didn’t look at any of them. Didn’t dare to. Didn’t want to recognize – and he would recognize them all, he was sure of that.

( _The smaller the clan had gotten, the closer he had started to keep an eye on everyone. Faces, mannerisms, sound of voices, shapes, everything was seared into his mind._ )

Madara had left a small group to defend the compound as he always did. There were measures for emergency, hidden underground rooms for the children and women to hide in if needed. Seals, barriers and traps to make it difficult to break in. Hashirama might not have had as many problems invading but Hashirama didn’t execute this attack personally. Which one of his minions could have found their home and break in with such ease? There were no traces of the intruders anywhere, making it obvious that they hadn’t met much resistance on their way inside. Had he failed his clan? _Again_?

( _He hadn’t been strong enough in that other life, either. Couldn’t protect his brother and was defeated into submission by Hashirama, forcing eventual doom on his people._ )

A gentle touch against his knuckles startled him out of his daze. A flash of white. Red. ( _As red as Izuna’s blood staining the Oni’s blade and his clothes and Izuna's pale skin._ ) He flinched back, wrenched his hand away in the same motion, and decidedly ignored the hurt flickering in those accursed eyes. The skin over his knuckles was uncomfortably tight.

“Izuna’s not here.”

( _“Izuna’s gone, Madara-sama. I know you’re in pain, but there’s nothing we can do, please, understand!”_ )

His heart missed a beat, breath stuck in his lungs. _Izuna. Izuna. Izuna_. “What? What did you say?”

Tobirama lifted both his shoulders either in a shrug or in an attempt to disappear between them; it was awkward and as familiar as it was unfamiliar. “I… he’s not. Fuyumi and Hikaku checked everywhere. There _are_ some survivors but.” He paused, fingers nervously twisting into his yukata. It was a sleeping yukata, too thin for the cool weather, Madara realized. “They’re hurt badly, and they don’t know how this happened. But Izuna’s not there, they didn’t identify anyone as him.”

Izuna could have been burnt to ashes. His corpse could have been mutilated beyond recognition, dragged far away from home for no one to ever find – _how_ would Hikaku and Fuyumi know?

“I also- I.” Tobirama took a step back, gaze firmly locked on the ground, the twitching of his fingers stopped. ( _He never looked Madara in the eyes. Hadn’t even in his life as a Senju. Was it a residual fear of the sharingan? Simple intimidation?_ ) “When we arrived… I wasn’t sure. It was really faint and almost out of my range, but I think I sensed his chakra?”

( _“Where’s Izuna?”_ )

He frantically yanked the brat close, barely noting how he shrunk in on himself as Madara’s chakra crackled with fury. The edges of his vision slowly tinted red with fury. “And you didn’t tell me then and there because?!”

Trepidation rolled off Tobirama in waves as he stiffened, only serving to fuel Madara’s steadily growing ire. ( _Hashirama’s brother always had a sharp tongue on him and never backed down, infuriatingly confident._ ) He opened his mouth and closed it several times, grating on Madara’s already thin patience, before settling on, “I w-wasn’t sure! It was too far.”

“But you sensed it anyway,” Madara growled. “We wouldn’t have wasted so much time if you opened your fucking mouth sooner! Where?!”

A moment’s hesitation before Tobirama pointed into a vague direction behind himself. Not exactly away from Hashirama’s dying forest but not into it, either. Why? If Hashirama’s minions had gotten their hands on his brother, why were they not taking him to Hashirama instantly? Were they scared? Why hadn’t they simply killed him? Or… did someone actually abduct Izuna? Perhaps his brother had fled and was alone now doing kami knew what. Would he leave the clan in such a state, though? ( _Izuna would do a lot for his own goals._ )

Madara jerked forward, not willing to linger on his doubts, not caring to, but Tobirama didn’t move with him. When he looked at the boy, annoyed beyond belief, he was focused on the small cluster of people that had formed a few feet away from them in front of the ruins of what used to be the main house ( _so many memories stored within the walls of that house, the remnants of happier times – everything gone_ ). Hikaku and Fuyumi, the only ones of his squad whom he was aware of having survived, were herding more people – alive – into the circle they had formed.

He could make out Elder Tsuna apathetically checking the pulse of an unmoving child ( _Chiyo, sweet, had just started losing her milk teeth_ ). Elder Takeru was sitting next to her, clutching his left arm tightly to his side, old eyes dead as he surveyed the damage spread out in front of him. There were a dozen children, at least ( _when he had left, there had been more, so many more_ ), but less than a handful of adults that he could see – their groans of pain echoed through Madara’s ears worse than any accusations could have if spat into his face.

Madara wasn’t a healer and that old hag Tsuna could only do so much. He already knew that three of the adults ( _Misaki, retired from the battlefield after losing all five of her children, Yuuko, head of the squad that was always charged with protecting the compound, and Fugaku, who had lost a leg in a battle two years ago_ ) would not make it. The children might have a better chance, he couldn’t tell from his place how serious their injuries were but most of them were moving around fine.

This was all that remained of his clan.

There was a different kind of anger simmering underneath the turmoil of emotions raging within him – colder, itching agitatedly behind his eyes, an ocean of resentment like he had never felt in all these years of war and its pull so very tempting.

How pitiful.

How _dare_ Hashirama?

Tobirama’s soft voice nudged against the hazy mist slowly engulfing his consciousness. “What about everyone else?”

It was a reasonable concern. _Rational_. The numbers didn’t matter, Madara was still clan Head and he needed to take care of his people first. But. “I have to find Izuna.” ( _What was the use of anyone surviving if Izuna wasn’t at his side?_ )

Tobirama’s lips curled downward, not exactly in disappointment or displeasure but resignation. “We can’t just leave them! And I need to…” He gestured over the ruins jerkily, desperately. “Kagami must be _somewhere_.”

 _Oh_. Fuck. Frustrated, Madara pressed his eyes closed and inhaled air still heavy with smoke. The ache in his chest that was nestled right underneath his heart twitched more persistently now. “You won’t find him. Fucking brat thought he could save you all on his own and went into that forest. He’s probably dead already.”

Tobirama flinched, almost ripping himself out of Madara’s grasp. His expression crumbled ever so slightly, confusion and pain twisting into each other, making him look even younger than he was. “No… Hashirama wouldn’t harm a child.”

Madara’s fingers dug deeper into his forearm, fury hot in his veins. Wouldn’t harm a child?! What would this brat call the small dead bodies Hikaku and Fuyumi had laid out alongside the others, burnt and broken? “And you know Hashirama so well all of a sudden, do you?”

( _“Anija-”_ )

“Aniki-”

“So, you did retrieve the boy.”

Gritting his teeth in an attempt to smother his roaring annoyance, Madara shot a withering glare toward Tsuna. “Really? You want to do that _now_?”

Tsuna squinted at them though, she never lingered on Tobirama. “You wanting to get him back was a bad omen. Clearly.” With a dark scowling her wrinkly, ugly face she added, “You should have never listened to his plan, you foolish boy.”

( _“Why won’t you listen to the Senju? Weren’t you the first one who wanted peace? We’re tired of war, Madara.”_ )

Madara couldn’t deal with this. They were ruined, they had injured ones to tend to, children to take care of, _Izuna_ to find and all that old bat could do was complain about Tobirama. What was wrong with Elders? “Hikaku.” His clansman snapped to attention where he was clumsily cleaning a kid’s ( _Hiro_ ) cut on the upper lip. “You know where the meeting points with our allies are. Get to the nearest one on the Kurama side.” It wasn’t like they could leave Hi no Kuni, they were effectively trapped.

Hikaku exchanged a worried glance with his cousin. “What about burials? And what if we’re caught?”

“Just burn the dead,” Madara grit out, the words bitter on his tongue. It wasn’t proper, arrangements needed to be done, pyres built, but they simply didn’t have any time. Izuna was getting farther away the longer he idled around. And who knew for how long Hashirama would be indisposed? “If you’re caught… surrender.” _And hope that he doesn’t kill you_.

Tobirama tensed in his grip but didn’t say anything, he was eerily still, and neither Hikaku nor Fuyumi could hide their surprise. He didn’t stay to wait for a reply. It was unfair, he knew. Yet, all he could think about was Izuna. It was enough to keep the pressure of despair from crushing him completely. He could keep going even when his clan perished but he would fall apart if he lost Izuna.

( _Madara loved his clan but he loved Izuna more._ )

* * *

“H-hurts. Anija, Anija, it _hurts_!”

He felt light, weightless, a pleasant buzz thrumming through his blood. As if he were drunk and the alcohol just kept flooding through his veins like a waterfall. It numbed the flames that had been licking all over his body, soothed the throbbing of the multiple wounds he couldn’t feel anymore. But it also left him dazed and disoriented.

 _Safe_. That much he was aware of. This warmth, this familiar chakra wrapping over his senses, life vibrating around him – _safe. His_.

And he wasn’t alone.

Hashirama blinked some of the hazy mist out of his vision as something buried itself into his chest. A head? A face… a nose brushing against his ribcage, ragged breaths drowning out the steady beat of his own pulse. And fingers shakily twisting into his clothes.

“Anija.”

 _Kawarama_. Hashirama let his own hands wander, relishing the feel of warm flesh and soft hair under them. If he leaned down low enough, he could even smell – earth, flowers, distinctly the mud Kawarama had always enjoyed rolling in. ( _That was right, Kawa would sneak out whenever it rained just so he could wade through fresh puddles of mud._ ) Alive. His sweet brother was alive. Both of them.

Hashirama’s heart soared, the warmth making him even giddier.

“What hurts?”

“Chakra,” Kawarama forced out. “Too much.”

 _Oh_. He remembered ( _how had he ever forgotten?_ ) that Kawarama had sensory abilities, although not well developed, back then. It had been easier to teach him how to suppress the sensing so it wouldn’t distract him more than other things already did ( _he wasn’t that strong a sensor hence, it wasn’t hard_ ), but Hashirama had been planning to ask Touka to teach Kawarama. ( _Before the currier mission had gone so very, very wrong._ )

Now that he thought about it… that was chakra being infused into him not alcohol.

“Sorry, Kawa.” He felt his way up toward Kawarama’s temples and started to gently rub his thumbs into them in slow, circling motions. Added a little of his healing chakra for good measure. “Can’t you turn it off? Like I taught you?”

Kawarama shook his head. “Don’t remember.”

He couldn’t see it, it was too dark here, but he could hear the pout accompanying that admission and it had the corners of his mouth twitch in delight. Such a welcoming contrast to the terror and pain that had laced his brother’s voice earlier, outside. “I’ll teach you again.” Once he had worked out the complications in their situation. And he _would_. “Where’s Itama?”

There was a flutter of movement somewhere behind him. Not close enough for him to pinpoint where exactly – it was hard to focus on details as it was. Instead, he raised one hand with his palm up, and let it light up in sparkles of green. They didn’t chase away the darkness, barely illuminated the tips of Kawarama’s spikes ( _like the Genji fireflies flitting around the riverside of the Nakano in the dusk he once used to follow around_ ), but he could hear shuffling and moments later, a small body curled into his left side from behind.

Something was still missing, though, and it was unsettling.

“Aren’t you… hurt?”

Hashirama placed his still glowing palm on Itama’s forehead and brushed over the soft hair, hoping that it would be able to distract Itama from the guilt ( _sensitive, always so sensitive_ ). There was nothing to be guilty of, after all, because none of this was their fault. They hadn’t asked to be resurrected and then used in such despicable ways.

( _He would have ripped that vermin’s chest open and watched his pathetic heart twitch and shrivel at his feet – he_ would _have, the smugness and self-satisfaction of the bastard a searing itch under his skin, but that crippling fear – the possibility of loss-_ )

“It’s all healed up.” At least, he believed that it was. Nothing hurt, there was no pressure trying to force his innards out of his wounds, his muscles obeyed him again – death wasn’t creeping up on him anymore.

Itama shifted against him, pushed back into the gentle carding of his fingers, doubt rolling off him. “Really?”

“There was a lot of blood,” Kawarama added just as quietly, uncertainly.

They sounded so young. ( _They were. Only a year apart, they had died at the same age._ )

“I’m pretty sure. Besides, it wasn’t your fault.” _That I was dying_.

Hashirama didn’t even dread dying, not really, and sometimes it didn’t sound like such a horrendous option. But if he had died here and left Kawarama and Itama behind alone and confused and tormented by their own misplaced guilt, at the Uchiha’s mercy, helpless puppets under Izuna’s command… He shuddered. No. No, dying wasn’t an option, never.

There was a long, heavy pause and he could imagine them trying to exchange solemn looks. Until Itama gathered his words, “Maybe... maybe you should kill us.”

Hashirama stiffened, muscles locked so tightly that they ached. His heart missed a beat and tumbled into a frantic, unsteady rhythm afterward.

“Itama’s right. You can’t trust us not to hurt you again. I don’t want to…”

“And we’re already dead, so it’s fine! It will be-”

“ _Enough_.” Energy cackled through their enclosed space, roaring with his anger – Kawarama whimpered pitifully at that – yet their abrupt silence was so much louder. “No one’s dying. Stop talking any such nonsense.” They had said the same thing outside when realizing that someone else was controlling their movements, using them to harm Hashirama, and Hashirama couldn’t hear it anymore. It _wasn’t_ fine. It mattered. “I better not-!”

A jolt shot through him, sudden and unbidden, through him and the ground underneath them and the densely concentrated blanket of raw chakra around them. An earthquake. It didn’t hurt but it left him reeling, every one of his senses – sight, hearing, smelling, feeling – shut down for a terrible moment.

He was floating on a bed of nothingness.

Hashirama came to with a gasp on his lips and wetness stinging in his eyes. His pulse vibrated over every inch of his skin, culminating into a loud, deafening cacophony in his head. There was a strange – serenity settling into his bones. The anger, the choking helplessness, the sheer resentment, dimmed.

He sat up gingerly and squinted, his blurry vision sharpening slowly.

His traitorous illusion of calmness shattered into a dozen pieces.

 _Kami_.

The trees surrounding the graveyard were bent and crooked and completely bald. Where there once had been nothing but green all he could make out was blackness ( _death_ ), bushes, flowers ( _on the graves…_ ) withered. The earth didn’t respond under his fingertips, silent no matter how much he tried to coax. A rank smell, pungent and tinged with the slightest hint of sickening sweetness thick in the air.

( _The first time he had lost control, he had turned the Tsubaki in his mother’s small garden into an ugly withered mess the odor of which had made her terribly sick; it had been an accident, his anger at her for not loving the baby enough too overwhelming._ )

Distress flooded his lungs, the shock of it doubling him over as he gasped for air.

This didn’t make any sense! He could sense even an animal carelessly stepping over a shyly rising sapling, a leaf being plucked away by the wind. Subconsciously, he would note the most miniscule of changes in his domain. How could he not have felt it rotting away? How was he calm instead of writhing in agony?!

Something latched on his trembling arm and when he blinked up blearily, he saw the white-and-black before the concerned gaze locked on him. Right, he wasn’t alone ( _not anymore_ ).

Hashirama swallowed until his distress freed his airways only to turn into a heavy weight in the pit of his stomach.

“I’m fine,” he lied as unconvincingly. “Just surprised.”

Now that he stared closer, though – Itama looked unharmed? The stab wounds that had definitely been adorning his front… hesitantly, Hashirama reached out, waited to be sure that it wasn’t unwelcome and brushed over a tattered piece of cloth. The blood had lost its freshness, crusty under his fingers and the flesh underneath was smooth.

Confused, he whipped his head to the side and caught sight of Kawarama kneeling close. His arm was absolutely fine, not bent awkwardly, and his stomach seemed unharmed as well.

The marks of their mortal wounds, the ones that had taunted him as much as Izuna’s smug satisfaction, were gone. Healed. Just like that.

“How are the two of you feeling?”

“Fine,” Itama said though he grimaced immediately after. “But I stubbed my toe on something earlier, and it still hurts!”

Hadn’t Tobirama mentioned this? That they would feel each of their pains for as long as they were in this world? Did that mean that despite the physical appearances, they were not rid of Izuna’s jutsu? That-

 _Tobirama_.

Hashirama jumped to his feet, startling Itama, and whirled around, gaze frantically roving over the graveyard and beyond. He recognized Touka lying not so far away, unmoving, but barely lingered on her. _Where_ was Tobirama? When caught in that chakra cocoon, Hashirama had simply thought of his brothers and they had been there. He was sure that he had wanted Tobirama there too.

( _He remembered fear crippling him into stillness when the world was going grey and suddenly turned black and they hadn’t been there. Remembered feeling Kawarama and Itama around him, and reaching out for Tobirama, touching-_ )

The ground under him jerked in response to the chakra leaking out, once, twice, like a patient would under the hands of a healer trying to jolt their still heart into beating.

He froze momentarily, stunned. Closed his eyes and did it again, this time forcefully pushing down – a wave of his chakra rippled through the earth, conjuring the vague image of carnage in his mind, the contours of his compound, and even farther, far outside of the reach of his forest the pulse of life. Flames and ashes and death on the other side of the Nakano where he knew of only one settlement. Familiar shadows moving rapidly away, hard to pinpoint, but so, so familiar.

Dazed, Hashirama stared down at himself. Of course. He had lost control, the proof of it everywhere, but – his fauna had fed him their life. Healed and restored, even his brothers. ( _He had always regenerated fast but never like this, never been ripped out of death’s clutches so literally._ ) His forest wasn’t dead and somehow, the reach of his powers had widened? Fascinating.

“Hashirama-Anija, what is it?”

He shook his head to clear his mind and smiled down at Itama. “Nothing. I just realized that I’m missing someone.” _And I want him back_. “But don’t worry about it, otōto.” He took Itama’s hand, careful not to press down too hard, and tugged him up. “Let’s clean you two up, first of all.” When he reached for Kawarama, his brother cringed away, making him pause in uncertainty, before tentatively gripping only his little finger. Ah. “Is it the chakra?”

“Too much,” Kawarama grumbled.

“Sorry,” Hashirama’s smile turned rueful. There wasn’t much he could do about that. Maybe once he had them settled and if Touka was herself again, they could teach him to either handle the sensing or suppress it.

“Anija, are you sure we’re… safe?”

He barely suppressed an impatient sigh. “Yes.” _No_. “Trust me and don’t fret, that’s my job, okay?” That earned him a half-hearted glare, but it looked ridiculous paired with Kawarama’s adorable pout.

Everything in him protested against leaving without Tobirama. It wasn’t right, it hurt, a hollow ache settling deep into his bones. But he couldn’t risk his brothers and he wouldn’t be any good if he had to look out for them while trying to retrieve Tobirama safely.

He had to hope that Madara would keep Tobirama safe.

* * *

( _“Not fair, Aniki! Why does the stupid rabbit always get all the cuddles?”_ )

( _“Madara-nii-san, why haven’t you visited Tobi yet? He’s sick and has been asking for you.”_ )

Madara blinked and the comfort of a child’s room turned into hard ground, looming trees and dark bushes. The crackling of an irori’s fire dissolved into the incessant splashes of a streaming river, and the achingly familiar scent of charcoal and salty rain melted one of damp earth and old withered leaves.

He stared at the shivering mess that was Tobirama in front of him, curled in on himself to ward off the coldness. Although, he definitely had pressed his knees further up into his chest when Madara had settled down behind him, and his shoulders were so stiff that it was a wonder they hadn’t yet snapped under all this shivering.

Honestly, Madara wasn’t sure what had come over him. He was strung high, his mind refused to shut down and agitation chafed his nerves raw; seeing the brat in such a pathetic state had been annoying on top of everything else. And the temptation of some much needed warmth had been further motivation, he supposed, even if he couldn’t relish it as they were now – barely touching but close enough to feel every little twitch in the other’s body, stiff and tensed, the silence stretching between them suffocating.

Eventually exasperated, he asked, “Did you sense Izuna at all?”

Tobirama shook his head imperceptibly. It was the answer Madara had expected and yet, he couldn’t quite suppress a flare of frustration. Tobirama flinched forward as if trying to put as much distance between them as possible, but it only made Madara yank him closer in irritation. He let his hand rest over Tobirama’s stomach, making sure that he really wouldn’t move, and even through the yukata he could it – the fucking brat was _freezing_!

“Stop. Squirming.”

He did. Madara could almost taste his surprise, and he understood it ( _he avoided willingly touching the boy, scared that he might give in to the itch that had been burning in his fingertips ever since his sharingan awoke and snap the boy’s scrawny neck_ ) but everything seemed to grate on his patience today.

Before he could linger on his own testiness, Tobirama breathlessly asked, “Aniki?”

Madara frowned; it always threw him off to be addressed as such, even after all these years. “Hm?”

A deep inhale as if trying to find courage and then, “Why did you name me _Tobirama_?”

( _“Stop laughing, Sora! It’s a great name, okay? It suits him! And he’s not exactly a typical Uchiha so why should his name be typical?”_ )

His palm pressed down a little, muscles twitching underneath it. Where had that come from? Not that Madara could even remember that specific moment clearly. His younger self had been dumb, naming the infant no one else had wanted to or dared to name, and had had a terrifying intuition to have come up with something so fitting. “Why _not_? You’ve got a problem with your bloody name?”

“No! it’s just…” Tobirama paused, fidgeted uncomfortably and eventually settled on shrugging. “Nothing. I’m sure we’ll find Izuna.”

Madara huffed. “No need to reassure me.”

Tobirama turned his head, a bloodred eye focusing on a spot next to Madara’s own black one. “I want to find him too, you know?”

( _“At this point, I’m really not sure whether Izuna’s jealous of you or Tobi. But don’t be too hard on him, nii-san. He’s a kid.”_ )

( _“Peace? What peace, Hashirama? Your brother murdered mine!”_ )

Madara didn’t deign to reply.

Abruptly, Tobirama jerked upward, gaze frantically surveying the looming trees and thick bushed around them. Madara felt it just a second later – a cool flick of chakra bursting to life out of nowhere. Not Hashirama. But… He stood up slowly, cautiously, and tugged Tobirama closer, sharingan spinning.

There, visible through the space between two crooked tree trunks, was someone kneeling at the banks of the river, back turned toward them. Madara barely noticed the glowing white kimono, gaze latched on that hair painted a garnet red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how this got so long ｢(ﾟ<ﾟ)ﾞ?? It's Hashirama's fault, I suppose.
> 
> Also, my tumblr side blog if anyone's interested in chatting: [tozhan](https://tozhan.tumblr.com/)


	12. XII.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, this chapter was a real struggle, for some reason. A mini-writer's block, I suppose :/ My tendencies for over-thinking and procrastination didn't help either, lol. Anyway!

The compound wasn’t in as bad a state as it could have been. The worst off were the houses that he had grown on the thicker trees, collapsed and rotten by now. And there were injuries, probably even casualties Hashirama hadn’t heard of yet, but nothing that he couldn’t fix. A larger concern was the hit the number of his abled shinobi no mono had taken, especially the Hatake whom he had stationed close to the border of Yu no Kuni – they had been caught in a attack by the Akimichi and Shimura.

With Touka still unconscious – he had had her brought to her own house and ordered two guards to keep watch – and Sasuke fighting a losing battle in the healing halls, there weren’t many people Hashirama could trust to reign in the distress and panic rippling through his subordinates. Perhaps his forest regenerating itself as it was doing at a rapid pace right now would put them a little more at ease. Diminish their fears of him.

“Someone was in our room.”

Hashirama turned away from the opened shoji doors and was met with Kawarama’s petulant scowl. _Ah_. ( _Kawarama had always been very possessive about his things._ ) “Well, Tobirama was living there, yes.”

In his periphery, he could see Itama sitting at the low table, the one Tobirama and Hiruzen had been eating at shortly before the attack, and Hyuuga Kayo kneeling next to him, examining him from head to toe through her byakugan. There wasn’t much a healer would be able to do, nothing he himself hadn’t already done, but maybe Kayo would detect any abnormalities in their chakra flow that he needed to be aware of.

“Who’s Tobirama?”

Focusing his attention back on Kawarama, Hashirama crouched down and ruffled his little brother's damp hair, a crooked smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’ve met him. The boy with the white hair?”

Recognition flashed through Kawarama’s eyes, but his scowl didn’t lose its intensity nor did he uncross his arms from over his chest. “So?”

“He’s my heir so, I wanted him to stay in your room. It seemed fitting.” ( _You were dead._ ) Although, his brothers might change the situation somewhat… Yet, Hashirama had no plans of going back on his word. He had official documents declaring Tobirama his rightful heir and he wanted it to stay that way. Besides, kami knew what a fuss the elders would throw once they realized that Itama and Kawarama had been brought back to life. ( _Not that he was going to listen to anyone's talk, he wasn't a powerless child anymore forced to watch the world beat down on his loved ones._ )

Kawarama scrunched up his nose confused ( _a little like Tobirama_ ). “Heir? But he’s not… your kid?”

 _Oh, kami_. A startled chuckle escaped him, making Kawarama pout in indignation more than anything else. He sat down cross-legged and pulled his brother close so that Kawarama could stand in front of where his ankles met and look at him without having to crane his neck. “No. I don’t and won’t have children.”

Itama piqued up curiously at that, ignoring Kayo’s exasperated plea not to move as he twisted his upper body to look at them. “Doesn’t Mito-hime want any?”

Any humor drained out of Hashirama so suddenly that he couldn’t stop himself shivering from the chill that settled into his bones.

 _That_ was a name he hadn’t heard in a long time. Hadn't expected to have to hear it ever again.

The Senju knew better than to bring her up even behind his back, but of course his brothers didn't. Though, he couldn’t remember them ever having been close to Mito – only knowing her as that quiet, older Uzumaki girl who would sometimes stay at the compound with her grandmother and was supposed to marry Hashirama eventually. It wasn't Itama's fault, the question was innocent enough, but it left his mouth tasting like ash.

( _“I want to help, Hashirama. This madness cannot go on any longer, you’re losing control! It’s better for you to forget-”_ )

He tooked a deep breath and tried to gentle his voice. “Mito’s gone.” He had made sure of that. They _all_ were except the few children each whom he had placed with a Senju he trusted enough. 

If there was one thing that he didn’t regret much in this war, then it had to be the Uzumaki clan’s fate. Those traitorous snakes should have been grateful that Hashirama hadn’t demanded their assistance like Butsuma had ( _they had not been made for war and Hashirama had respected their reluctance to partake, let alone craft seals for the Senju’s usage_ ), that he had overlooked their refusal to give him what he wanted ( _Uzumaki had been seal-masters and he had seen them create unbelievable seals throughout his life; trying to bend time shouldn't have horrified them such_ ) and had let them live isolated in their settlement at the coast.

It was their own fault.

They shouldn’t have meddled, not in the past when sworn to Butsuma ( _Uzumaki Heiko, as he had found out years later, had persuaded father to send Itama on a suicide mission simply because she wanted to test a seal connected to his freshly discovered blood affinity_ ) and definitely not when allied with Hashirama. Shouldn’t have assumed a godlike rights to judge and take action accordingly.

( _“Your brothers died a long time ago and you still refuse to let go. You need to move on, Hashirama. Holding on to your brothers’ memories is driving you to insanity!”_ )

“Anija!”

He was snapped out of his musings by someone tapping insistently against his cheek. Hashirama shook his head to shake off traces of his unwelcomed memories and smiled apologetically at Kawarama. “Sorry.”

Kawarama nibbled on his lower lip worriedly before staring down and pointing at a spot next to Hashirama’s left thigh. The wood had cracked open and was exuding an unpleasant smell. _Shit_. Hastily, he covered it with his palm and let it twist and twitch until it had closed and regenerated again. Damn, he needed to get a hold of his emotions.

“If he’s not your kid then why ‘s he your heir?” Kawarama asked – and Hashirama noted with pride that both of them had dropped the Mito subject so quickly.

“Because I took him in and wanted him to be.” ( _He’s mine._ )

“Where is he?”

Hashirama’s smile wavered. Where indeed. The squad that he had sent out for the Uchiha compound had reported about its destruction before they could have reached – which Hashirama had already been aware of – but where exactly Madara, Izuna and Tobirama were… He could have sworn that Tobirama and Madara had been close to his forest on the side where it bordered on Uzu no Kuni. They had disappeared earlier, though - as if the very earth might have swallowed them; but even then _he_ should have been able to see them.

“He’ll be back soon. I’ll give him a new room, then, alright?”

Kawarama shared a not so subtle glance with Itama who had turned fully toward them, much to Kayo’s exasperation. Whatever silent conversation they were holding, it had Kawarama fidget nervously. “He… he looks like the baby.”

( _They hadn’t ever seen the infant except that one time when Hashirama had copied a messy seal Mito had been working - something to give visible form to a memory. The illusion of the baby he had created after many failed attepmts had been unclear but not unrecognizable._ )

Hashirama only hummed, his throat too tight for him to say anything. ( _It wasn’t his imagination. And the Uchiha knew a jutsu to resurrect the dead…_ )

He was immensely relieved when Kayo tugged Itama toward them, letting the boy settle on Hashirama's other side. She carded her fingers through thick, brown strands and avoided eye-contact as she said, “Overall, the chakra flow seems normal – aside from the heart and the brain. There’s the same chakra signature I already detected in your cousin. It's not exactly harming them yet, but I assume it is what allowed the Uchiha to control them.”

Izuna. What kind of technique was this, though? Tobirama had called it a resurrection jutsu and clearly, it involved the chakra of the person who used it – so that they could control the resurrected ones? What had happened to Touka seemed different, though, because Izuna hadn’t simply been controlling her but possessed her body. Could it be a sort of a fuinjutsu? But the Uchiha weren’t well versed in those as far as he knew.

“What if I tried to replace the chakra with my own?”

Kayo frowned. “It could be done but I’m not sure about the ramifications. The locations – heart and brain – are tricky and we ought to be cautious.”

Which meant that he would have to keep Izuna alive until he had figured this out. What a shame. “Thank you for your assistance. You may leave.” He barely paid her retreating form any attention, mind whirring.

“I have to find Tobirama,” he told his brothers. “Don’t leave the house, alright? And keep an eye on our guest.” Technically, there were two guests but Hiruzen basically lived here.

Hashirama wasn’t looking forward to having to explain to the child what had happened to his father. He hoped that he would sleep for a while longer, let his wounds, superficial as they were, heal and that the Uchiha kid, once he regained his consciousness, wouldn’t pose too much trouble for Itama and Kawarama. How the kid had wounded up with Hiruzen was a mystery but Hashirama loathed to see children hurt amidst the quarrels of adults so, he hoped that their Uchiha guest would be amicable. ( _Not that anyone could leave his home without him wanting to; the house knew better than to allow it._ )

“I’m going to infuse extra chakra into the house,” he explained ruefully to Kawarama. “Will you be alright?”

Kawarama shrugged, mouth tugged into an unhappy grimace. “Yeah.”

Unable to stop himself, Hashirama pressed a gentle kiss to scar on Kawarama’s right cheek, then another one against Itama’s temple.

* * *

Her chakra crashed over his senses like a thick layer of snow, violently disturbed on its branch, would over anyone passing underneath it.

Unable to suppress the shivers rolling over him, Tobirama pressed closer into his Aniki’s side, seeking his natural warmth alongside the volcano that his chakra signature was and was relieved when he wasn’t rebuked for it. When he glanced at his brother his attention was focused on the red-haired woman who hadn't moved from the banks of the river. There was apprehension in Aniki’s features and something else, something that had Tobirama's stomach churn with discomfort.

 _Uzumaki_ , Aniki had whispered earlier, much to his surprise ( _and intrigue_ ). No one knew what had become of the Uzumaki after Hashirama had unleashed his wrath upon them, but everyone assumed them to be gone. Dead. And it made sense since a poisonous fog, according to the tales, made it impossible to get anywhere near the coast of Uzu no Kuni, there was no possibility of actual people living there. Even if that assumption was wrong and the whispered tales were hearsay, what would an Uzumaki be doing this deep into Hi no Kuni?

Tobirama startled when, suddenly, within a split heartbeat and without making any noise, the woman was kneeling right in front of him. He hadn't even _seen_ her move! He flinched at the freezing touch of her fingers on his cheeks, his pulse hitching when the stripes there tingled in response. Everything about her was cold – except that gaze cutting through him with such searing intensity that he wondered whether she could set his soul aflame. It was disorienting.

“The stench of death is heavy on you. Have you died before?”

He was so distracted by her voice – it reminded him ice being crushed between teeth – that he needed a moment to fully grasp her words. Before he could have reacted, though, he found himself yanked backward and half of his face pressed against Aniki’s burning shoulder. His breath stuttered in shock. ( _That was… a hug_.) “What the fuck kind of question is that? Does he look _dead_ to you?!”

“I thought…” she trailed off, frowning. “Those marks are odd. Hashirama…”

Aniki pushed him away roughly – he almost whined embarrassingly at the loss – to stare at his face as if he was seeing him for the first time. His expression twisted into a mix of a bitter and pained grimace, his gaze slightly unfocused ( _that happened a lot when Aniki stared at him; as if he wasn’t really seeing Tobirama but something else that hurt_ ) and it only got worse, darker and more furious when Aniki tilted his chin up to scrutinize his throat, then turned his hands around and even pushed up the sleeves of his yukata to reveal more markings.

Hadn’t he noticed these before, though? Perhaps he had been too distracted by the other events unfolding all around them.

“Where did you get these from?”

The sharpness rippling through the question had Tobirama wilt although, he hadn't done anything wrong. “I… don’t know,” he mumbled. Which wasn’t exactly a lie. He had no idea why or how he had acquired these weird markings, and he wasn’t going to recount his seizure ( _pain, pain, pain_ ) in the presence of a stranger ( _or ever_ ).

Aniki scrunched up his noise doubtfully, clearly not blieving him but neither did he press the matter ( _yet_ ). Instead, still keeping a hold on Tobirama’s wrist, he turned toward the Uzumaki who had observed their little exchange curiously. “Stench of death? Care to elaborate or have you gone mad?”

She didn’t react and scrutinized Tobirama attentively. “I’ve heard but- You’re that boy. The one Hashirama’s so enamored with.”

His brother's fingers tightened so much around his wrist that it hurt; he couldn’t fully suppress a wince. The sudden sharp pain wasn’t enough to distract him, though, and her murmured words pressed down heavily on his chest. ( _Hashirama wasn’t. He had only reminded the man of someone long dead and now that he had two of his real brothers back Tobirama would be forgotten soon_.)

“Stop with that cryptic nonsense. What is wrong with you?” Aniki paused, eyebrows pulling together in suspicion. “Did Hashirama send you for us?”

The Uzumaki’s blank expression didn’t change but her eyes settled on Aniki and her chakra turned even icier. “Do tell me, Uchiha-san. After what happened to your clan today, would you be able to ally yourself with him?”

“How do you know about that?” Aniki growled.

Her lips curled into a small, humorless smile. “Does it matter? Knowing certain things is a simple necessity in order to survive here.”

Evasion. Or perhaps it sincerely seemed unimportant to her. But how could she have found out? It hadn’t even been a full day yet, and so much had happened in that messy battle that the Uchiha’s tragedy wouldn’t have stuck out immediately, loathe as he was to admit. His heart churned guiltily at the reminder.

( _He felt – disloyal that he hadn’t let himself think of it, of the deaths and the destruction and the abandoned survivors, of the children and Kagami whom he was failing, that he wasn't sure whether he truly believed Hashirama to be responsible; but he would suffocate in his own guilt if he did and Aniki didn’t need that._ )

“The Uchiha were bound to be destroyed eventually,” Mito continued, a careful, considering lilt to her voice. “I suppose Hashirama cared a bit more for you than he did most others considering how long he held back.” If Aniki gripped his wrist any tighter, he would break the bone. “He was always good at that – caring, making friends, making you feel adored. But only superficially – Hashirama is loyal to only one kind of love and everyone else is easily dispensable for him.” She tilted her head to the side, red strands following the motion. “So, him being so smitten by anyone who is not his brother… imagine my surprise.”

Her tone struck Tobirama as odd. Not exactly bitter or upset but something close and in between both with genuine curiosity leaking through and a little wistfulness. He didn’t know what to think about it, about any of this, about what she believed Hashirama felt in regard to him ( _smitten? What did that even mean?_ ). What was she trying to say? And why?

Besides, how could she be aware of these things without having entered Hashirama’s forest, and how could she have entered it unnoticed? He certainly had never sensed her particular signature before – but he hadn’t sensed her approach earlier, either. Almost as if she had simply materialized out of thin air.

( _But then again, Izuna had a vast system for spying purposes, one that Tobirama had facilitated. Why couldn’t anyone else?_ )

“Alright, I don’t have time for your creepiness,” Aniki eventually huffed, breaking the awkwardly charged silence that had stretched between them. He impatiently tugged at Tobirama, an urgency behind his motion that belied how rattled he actually was.

Mito quirked an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You were _resting_ just now.”

“And you’re annoying. If you’ve got nothing worthwhile to say-”

“I want Hashirama dead.” They both stilled at that blank confession. “But _I_ can’t do it.”

Aniki scoffed. “A lot of people want him dead and are trying.”

“Yet, failing.” When she was only met by stubborn silence, she sighed. “You don’t trust me.”

“The Uzumaki used to be the Senju’s closest allies for generations. And you _were_ going to marry him, Mito- _hime_.”

Tobirama blinked, surprised. Eyed Mito more carefully and tried to imagine her with Hashirama. A political alliance, perhaps? _Love_? Somehow, considering how things had turned out in the end, he doubted that. It seemed bizarre - Hashirama, once he cared for someone, he did it with full commitment ( _he had with Tobirama, a complete strange, had he not?_ ) and yet... Was his attention as fickle and superficial as Mito claimed? ( _He expected to be discarded now but the thought... it was disturbing._ )

“And you were dreaming about creating a village with him once,” she retorted drily. “Then turned on your word and stabbed him in the back.”

Stabbed… Did she mean the whole daimyo debacle? Tobirama remembered clearly that Aniki had fought a lot with their father to force him to change his mind ( _and it had been ugly, so, so ugly; fodder for anyone who only needed a reason to accuse Aniki of treason, and tension cracking unbearably every waking moment_ ) before giving up an already lost battle. Has Hashirama felt betrayed that his once friend hadn't done more?

His brother let go of him and took a threatening step toward her, chakra roaring. “Oh? Are you talking from experience? Tell me, how did _you_ backstab him for him to discard you and your clan?”

Mito wasn’t frazzled, kept her expression expertly neutral, but there was a twitch in her chakra. Barely noticeable, he almost missed it, but it was there, the only indication that Aniki might have hit a nerve or offended her. “I’m simply trying to make a point. Times change, people change. The Uzumaki are no more and the Uchiha aren’t far from extinction, either. We are on the same side today.”

It bothered Tobirama how detached she sounded while talking about her clan’s demise.

“And what exactly is it that you expect from me?”

“What were you going to do now?” she countered. “Aside from collecting your brother’s body.”

Sparks danced around Aniki’s fingertips. “ _You_ -”

“Izuna will be fine.” Tobirama forced himself not to lower his gaze as both their attentions snapped toward him. “If… I mean, if Hashirama does have him and he wasn’t killed before – Hashirama won’t kill him.” ( _He loved his brothers more than he resented Izuna_.) That assurance was what had kept his own worry and panic at bay for this long. ( _But what if Hashirama didn’t have him?_ )

“You sure have a high opinion of that bastard now,” Aniki snarled furiously, and he didn't _understand_! He scowled at the ground in front of him. That was a truth. Hashirama needed Izuna, he wouldn't kill him. Why did stating this anger Aniki so much?

Mito chuckled, the sound grating. “Well, death isn’t the only option. Believe me, Hashirama can do _worse_.”

And it was the way she said it – not as a warning or an implication but a fact – that had Tobirama’s insides recoil with dread.

“So, you don’t have any plan. In that case, I have something to offer.” She turned back toward the riverbanks, kneeling down and submerging her arms to the elbows into the water. There was something floating over the surface - a seal? - and when she turned toward them, still kneeling, she was holding something in her palms. “Tell me, Uchiha-san. What do you know about the rinnegan?”

* * *

Izuna should have been more upset over the destruction of his clan.

( _Loyalty and love were two different things, though; all that superstitious bunch did was whine in good times and whine more in bad times, eat up Aniki’s attention and still pick him apart for miniscule mistakes, demanding, demanding, demanding-_ )

He should have been furious over that Yamanaka scum intruding on his mind without his permission. ( _And oh, he was, so, so furious; he would rip that old geezer into pieces once he was free._ ) He probably also should have felt more betrayed by the implications of Yamanaka and Kurama shinobi no mono working with his captor ( _was it that surprising, though? Aside from the Hagoromo, no one was really allied with them and most of these other clans were foremost loyal to the daimyo and themselves_ ).

There were many things Izuna should be – but wasn't.

Sitting perfectly still in the farthest part of this dingy cave, he stared down at his shackled wrists thoughtfully. Let the low murmurs of his captors, two of which had orchestrated the attack on the compound and two who had been waiting here, wash over him without trying to depict their conversations. The only unnerving thing was the empty gaze of that Kurama boy perched next to the entrance focused on him constantly.

He had seen chakra suppressing seals before ( _Tobirama had worked on designs of his own once he had learned how to facilitate the ink for it correctly_ ). But… this wasn’t exactly that. His chakra was still there, calm and lying dormant deep within him, out of his consciousness’ reach somehow, but not suppressed or locked. It was odd and he was fairly sure that this was not the creation of just any shinobi.

This whole situation was getting increasingly annoying. Perhaps he should have struggled a bit more, tried his luck at escaping, but-

_“How much do you want Senju Hashirama dead?”_

They had caught him off-guard in more than one way. But they also seemed to be underestimating him, easily turning their backs to him while they discussed among themselves. For how long had he already been here? His brother might be going mad with concern.

Though, thinking of Madara and what his brother would have found upon his return, how he would have reacted after realizing that Izuna was gone – his chest ached. Madara was an emotional fool when it came to him ( _not that he didn’t relish it_ ). And Tobirama. Was he with Madara? Had they escaped the Senju’s death trap? Would Tobirama worry about him? ( _Of course, he would, but being as practical as the freak tended to be, he would try to reign in his worries._ )

“You have been awfully quiet, Uchiha-san.”

Izuna tilted his head and stared at the man – samurai – who had plopped down on the other side of the little fire that divided the already cramped cave in two. At the entrance, the old Yamanaka was still talking fervently with whom Izuna suspected to be another samurai, judging from his armor. The nerve. “Isn’t there a point to me still being alive? I’m rather bored.”

“Oh? The slaughter of your people not enough entertainment?”

The guy’s eyes glinted like the blade that he was turning in his grip just right to catch the flames’ light, but with that ugly scarf covering his mouth it was hard to determine whether he was amused or not. He did sound amused, at least. And Izuna absolutely loathed it.

At Izuna’s insistent silence, the samurai huffed. “Fine, fine. We have a proposition for you as you might have guessed.”

Izuna pulled his lips back into a snarl. “You certainly are dumb as fuck if you think I’ll go along with anything you want.” The audacity. Exterminating his clan and afterward, trying to make deals with him? ( _He was intrigued, though. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been here relatively unharmed._ )

The guy tugged at his scarf as if contemplating taking it off, shrugged one shoulder slowly in consideration before he stopped playing with his sword, sheathed it into the softened ground, folded his hands atop the hilt and rested his chin on them. He was built sturdily and had weapons. Shinobi no mono avoided clashing with samurai in general, there was no way Izuna could do anything without proper access to his chakra.

“What happened to the Uchiha clan is unfortunate, but it was necessary.”

( _That was what they had said about the destruction of the Inuzuka’s little village._ )

“You must be a fool to think an Uchiha would overlook any harm done to their own no matter what.” ( _As if he had never harmed another clan member, as if he had never killed-_ )

There was a shift in the samurai’s expression – the little crinkle between his brows smoothed out, the lines around his eyes dug deeper, and he was definitely smiling. “So I have heard. Your brother certainly is someone… very invested in his emotions. You, on the other hand, not so much.”

Izuna reeled back at that, startled.

“I don’t think you care that much about your overall clan. Do you?”

( _He didn’t for most._ )

( _When they had found out that Aniki had befriended the Senju Heir, one of the Elders and Tajima’s most trusted advisors, Ibisu, had vehemently demanded execution for treason – Izuna hadn’t meant to shove him off the stairs, but he hadn’t regretted when hiding the body with Tobirama’s help._ )

“So, there really is no need to pretend you’re upset over that. You didn’t even react to the extermination up until now, did you know?”

Izuna wondered how much the Yamanaka had trifled through his mind and how much he had told his comrades. Fucking leech. He would melt that bastard's brain.

“If killing Hashirama is the goal then why antagonize people on your side?”

“Will your brother suspect me? Or the Kurama or Yamanaka?”

Most likely not. Madara tended to be hot-headed, and there was no reason to suspect anyone but Hashirama. And Madara would be furious enough not to consider anything else… _What happened to the Uchiha clan is unfortunate, but it was necessary_. Ah. Was that it? “You think Aniki can take Hashirama down if he's angry enough?”

A flash of annoyance flickered over the guy’s face at that. _Interesting_. “Some people surely seem to believe that. We’ll find out, I suppose.”

Madara had been Hashirama’s equal before the Senju had gone mad. It had been a jarring realization for the Uchiha that their clan Head couldn’t measure up to their greatest enemy anymore, all of a sudden. Jarring and befuddling because how could the gap between their powers have grown so immensely seemingly overnight? ( _Oh, and had they been frustrating about that, believing that Aniki was holding back on purpose._ )

What was the catch here, though? Did whoever the samurai was following seriously think that Madara could become equal to Hashirama again if he were provoked enough? It seemed too simplistic. His brother had been raging on many occasions over many losses, his resentment growing with each day and yet, nothing had ever come of it.

( _But what if?_ )

Intrigued, Izuna asked, “And what exactly will I have to do?”

The samurai hummed, clearly pleased. “Oh, nothing much. You will just," he paused, either for dramatic purposes or to gather the right words, "have to die.”


	13. XIII.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like the closer I'm getting to the finishing line, the longer it takes to get the chapters done, smh. It doesn't help that my old laptop is basically done for and the one I'm using as an interim solution isn't that great, writing-wise (and I'm too broke rn to get a proper replacement, lol). Bear with me ‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )‧º·˚

Tobirama was drowning.

He didn’t understand _why_.

One moment, he had been trying to stop Aniki from approaching Mito; there had been no reason to trust her like this, to let down their guards. And those rinnegan ( _he didn’t know what those were supposed to look like, hadn’t ever believed that they were more than figments of fairytales_ )… for some inexplicable reason they had been vibrating with _Aniki’s_ volcanic energy ( _muted down to a hot simmer instead of the violent roaring, though, in a way only Aniki’s sharingan always was._ )

But Aniki had ripped himself away from his grip to stumble toward her like a drunken fool, thick mist twirling up his body higher and higher with each step.

Then, as Tobirama had tried to do something, panicked and frustrated, reached out for his suiton – Mito’s sharp gaze had snapped toward him ( _glowing, her pupils had been glowing eerily_ ) and he had blinked, startled, and suddenly, found himself immersed in icy water.

( _Katon was no stranger to him, but it had never called to him like suiton had; he had never been terrified of drowning, not even that one time when Elder Tsuna had-_ )

The worst, though- worse than the waves intend on crushing his chest, worse that his burning throat and stinging eyes, worse than his immobile limbs- was the chakra. As cold and cutting and wrong as Mito’s. It was _everywhere_. Scratching over his senses and leaving them raw and aching and frozen.

It hurt, hurt so incredibly much, where it tugged at his own.

He couldn’t focus on any one thing; the panic, the fear, the pain, everything merged into one unrecognizable puddle of mud smearing over his awareness.

Tobirama tried to close his eyes to protect them as much from the water as the familiar prickling sensation coursing through them ( _it was an instinct_ ) and the pressure dissipated from around him. Not the cold, though. And not the absolute darkness, not even when he was sure that his lids were wide open.

Instead, images and sounds filled it up the void.

There were people. Blurry shadows with trails of garnet red ( _Mito, Uzumaki?_ ) following every single one of them. The ground was shaking, he could feel the vibrations buzzing through his own body. And roots, there were so many roots sprouting from the trembling ground, vicious and ferocious, and grass spreading out like sea with monstrous, withered flowers rising rapidly from of it.

A cacophony of loud and horrified screams pierced through his ears, but he couldn’t raise his hands to cover them.

The roots strangled and pierced whatever moving thing they could reach, sometimes impaling the same person more than once, and the flowers were exuding a thick, yellow fog that might have been poison. It was, he realized when he saw the first figure that got close enough in their panic to claw off a vine from around their neck inhale a lungful of the fog – they fell, their body convulsing, a rivulet of blood flowing down the mouth over the chin.

Nausea simmered in the pit of his stomach and bile burned in the back of his throat, acidic and painful, but he couldn’t make this stop. Couldn’t look away, couldn’t stop listening.

Red, red, so much red, not all of it blood. And flora turning on these people to kill them.

It was still incredibly cold but this felt different. Not like the iciness of the water, it was like bitter winter winds had settled into his bones, carving resentment and heartache into each one. Foreign. Not his own. ( _Would Hashirama’s cocoon have felt like this?_ )

Tobirama wasn’t an idiot, even if it was hard to concentrate right now. But what he didn’t understand… Were these _memories_? And how could he make this stop?

He couldn’t _bear_ -

( _Aniki, Anik-_ )

* * *

Madara had lost time.

He didn’t know how or why. The last thing he did remember clearly was accepting Mito’s gift ( _how could he not have? The most powerful of doujutsus presented to him like an offering to a kami_ ) and Mito asking for permission to transfer them. There had also been Tobirama clinging to his arm with the desperation of a drowning man trying to stay above water. ( _“Wait, Aniki! You can’t just- we don’t know anything! They might not even be real! Aniki!”_ )

Oh, but they had been. Madara had known as soon as he had seen them.

From that other life, he had been aware of what the world looked like through the clarity of the rinnegan. ( _Remembered it like someone did an especially pleasant but fading dream – the only thing that truly remained a feeling rather than clear images._ ) Perhaps Madara should have been more cautious, should have heeded Tobirama’s warnings, Mito used to be Hashirama’s fiancée and an Uzumaki, definitely not someone to trust – but… the _opportunity_. ( _The call, as if he were a marionette and those eyes held his strings to pull him in._ )

What had happened between that and _now_ , he wasn’t sure.

Groggily, he pushed himself up and grimaced as he realized that his legs were emerged in icy water, waves rhythmically crashing against his knees. There was a white sheen over his sight as if he was seeing through a fogged window. And those lines – rivulets of chakra flowing through the water ( _flickering between dull and vibrant_ ) and the ground underneath ( _dull, dull, dull_ ) him and wherever he looked – they were off-putting in their jarring clarity.

Was he even still in the forest, at the same spot? What had happened?

He was going to kill that Uzumaki witch.

“It seems like they took extremely well.”

Madara whirled around, furious- and faltered in his simmering fury.

There Mito was, barely a foot away from him, calm and impassive aside from that small, pleased smile on her red lips. But her _chakra_. Dark and dull, even more so than the ground he was standing on, and _dangerous_. Madara might not have had his new eyes for long but he was certain that this wasn’t normal. What was up with that woman?

“Well? How’s your vision?”

“What did you do?” he asked. How had she transplanted both the rinnegans? There was no pain, no discomfort ( _they felt natural, fitting, perfect_ ), no indication of a surgery or a jutsu that she might have used. And judging from the still lingering darkness, it couldn’t have taken _that_ long.

Mito tilted her head to the side, one eyebrow quirked up. “Does it matter? I gave you what you wanted.”

“You gave me what you wanted me to have,” he snorted derisively. “And if-” He cut himself off as his gaze roamed over his surroundings more thoroughly. A sudden surge of anxiety had his pulse trip out of its rhythm. “Where’s Tobirama?”

“Tobirama, hm?”

Madara didn’t like her tone, he didn’t like that eerie interest she had been showing in Tobirama at all. It made his skin crawl unpleasantly and had his hackles raised in warning. “Where. Is. He?”

“He doesn’t really belong to you, does he?”

( _“You can’t have your children get too attached, Tajima. That boy clearly doesn’t belong here nor will he live long.”_ )

Mito turned her profile to him as she faced the restless river, gaze set on Hashirama’s forest rising in the distance. It was dark and hard to make out but the glimpses of chakra that Madara could see from here were bright and throbbing and oozing power. Had Hashirama already replenished his territory? The thought was unsettling and yet, Madara could barely focus on it, too busy as he was trying to blend out the deafening staccato of his pulse ringing in his ears.

“Hashirama,” Mito started and faltered, her breath hitching – he didn’t hear it, couldn’t, but saw it in the way her throat jumped. She tried again, “He wanted me to find a way for him to _bend_ time. He had never asked for anything before. So. I _tried_.” Her hands were shaking at her sides. “I saw a hundred and more timelines because I needed to know in detail what he had to do to get the world that he desired.”

Madara’s chest was being crushed under the weight of her words. No, he didn’t understand what she was talking about, not really, didn’t know what it meant- but he had lived most of his life with the memories of another world carved into his mind. He had an idea, at the very least.

When Mito’s gaze returned to him, it had a hauntingly familiar shimmer to it. “I didn’t realize it immediately. It has been so long, and he died young in most of those times. But…” She tucked a red strand behind her ear, the motion slow, almost contemplative. “Tell me, Uchiha-san. Why do you lay claim on Hashirama’s brother?”

Once, many years ago, Tajima had sent him and Sora along with a first cousin on a mission – safeguarding a delegation of nobles on their journey through the mountains of Yuki no Kuni. It wasn’t something Madara even remembered well ( _he remembered, though, desperately trying to shield his brother’s freezing body from the cold winds and relentless snow-rains_ ) but the cold had imprinted itself so deeply within himself that he couldn’t even think of that bloody country without shivering.

 _This_ felt just like that. The frost settling into his bones and spreading through his veins jolted him back under a hill in Yuki no Kuni, buried knee-deep into snow.

He let the heat of his rage melt it away.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?!” he hissed through his teeth.

Mito blinked and observed him, mapping out his face in search of something. “Am I wrong? Senju Tobi-”

“ _Uchiha_!” And there was a familiar burn on his tongue, but the confession didn’t turn into ashes in his mouth. “He was born into _my_ clan. He’s not Hashirama’s!” ( _Not this time around, no._ )

Mito’s lips parted slightly, the only indication of her surprise. “That’s impossible.”

Fucking- “Do you want me to describe the birth to you?!” Fuzzy as it was. ( _He_ had _been there. Had held Izuna first right after Tajima, delighted and awed. Had passed Izuna over to the wet nurse and reached for the new odd-looking and silent infant whom father and mother hadn’t dared touch._ )

“Interesting,” Mito muttered lowly.

It just infuriated Madara further. “I don’t have time for this nonsense,” he growled. “Tell me where the fuck Tobirama is!”

“Shouldn’t you worry about your actual brother?”

Madara jerked back as if burnt.

He barely noticed the water lapping at the balls of his feet, barely registered Mito flinching back when his chakra flared out of the restraints of his shaky self-control. All he could focus on was the deafening staccato of his pulse in his ears, the _IzunaIzunaIzuna_ searing through him like lightning and settling in the form of smoke over his senses.

Of course, he hadn’t forgotten.

( _But Izuna would ask because Izuna couldn’t help it, not when it came to Tobirama._ )

Truly, Madara wasn’t sure what he had been about to do. His palms were sizzling, and thunder cracked across the sky in response, and he wanted to strike, to smite Mito’s aggravating existence from-

Until Tobirama was flung at him, limp and wet and breathing shallowly.

It was a miracle that Madara didn’t topple over. But he remained on his feet, arms wrapped tightly around Tobirama’s pathetically shivering form, and instinctively infused warmth into the boy. Skin as white as a snow, lips light blue and those terrifyingly familiar markings glowing bloody red, Tobirama looked more like a ghost than human.

Madara felt his heart lodge into his throat. Had the boy been under water? This long?

“Your real eyes don’t have enough chakra to suffice,” he distantly heard Mito’s voice. “Humans, _shinobi_ to be precise always have plenty.”

His head snapped up at that, dread and nausea twisting through his stomach. It was as if a veil had been lifted from in front of him – he could see. The translucent sheen to her, how her white kimono was neither wet nor dirty, her _bland_ chakra. Oh. _Oh_.

Unbidden, Madara’s grip around Tobirama tightened. The answering whimper was a soothing balm over his frayed nerves. “Did you try to kill him?” ( _Right under my nose?_ )

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She didn’t snort but it came close. “I was testing something and the result is rather astounding. There are so many traces of Hashirama inside of him; he’s really attached to your boy.” A disturbing smile tugged at her lips. “Unfortunately, Hashirama’s chakra doesn’t become me.”

Confused, Madara took in Tobirama more closely.

That… these didn’t look like simple _traces_ of Hashirama’s chakra. They were so much more and twisted around Tobirama’s own chakra paths, an almost unrecognizable tangle in some spots. The sight had Madara’s blood boil viciously. ( _Among siblings, parents and children, lovers it wasn’t unusual to leave remnants of their chakra in each other’s bodies, like a hug or a kiss, an offhand show of affection for those who were close._ )

“So, you feed off chakra?” he asked, desperate to distract himself from the implications. “Are you even Uzumaki Mito?”

She had turned away from them again, gaze clouded. “Who knows, at this point? I did what I needed to; weren’t you in a hurry, Uchiha-san?”

“That’s it?” He couldn’t believe it. What was this even? Mito appeared out of nowhere, gave him something so invaluable and that was that? What about drawbacks? What about her demands? “You don’t want anything in return?”

Her shoulders stiffened. “Hashirama’s death will be payment enough. But if you’re so eager to give me more, then you can _visit_ me afterward.”

“…ki? Aniki?”

Madara’s attention slipped toward the bundle in his arms in surprise. Tobirama blinked up at him, expression wild. “Hm… I- ’m gon’ to-” Frantically, he pushed himself out of Madara’s grip, slid to his quivering knees and _retched_.

Madara grimaced in disgust as the putrid smell of vomit filled the air. When he looked up, a curse already on the tip of his tongue, Mito was gone.

“Fucking witch,” he growled under his breath and ignored the uncomfortable shivers raking down his back.

Tobirama had stopped heaving but he was coughing wetly and still quivering from head to toe. Madara didn’t know what to do with this, he couldn’t even glance at the boy without seeing Hashirama’s chakra hover around him like pollen and it made him sick to his stomach. There was no time for this, he had more important things to focus on and Tobirama didn’t seem to be in any state of sound mind to talk, and yet.

What had Mito called him? That boy Hashirama was _enamored_ with. He remembered Izuna’s fury, Izuna telling him of Hashirama being _smitten_. Saw how Hashirama’s chakra was interwoven with Tobirama’s so _intimately_.

“Tobirama,” he started shakily – and trailed off, his throat too tight for anything else to slip past. _What_ was he doing? He had to be going mad to even entertain such inane worries. Instead, he reached for Tobirama’s shoulder and heaved him up roughly before he turned his back to the boy and lowered himself. “Get on.”

Nothing. He glanced over his shoulder and glared at the brat. It did startle him out of whatever trance he had been in yet, he hesitated.

“Hurry up,” Madara huffed impatiently. “We don’t have time.”

When Tobirama did, Madara could feel the uncertainty radiating off him in waves and it only grated at his nerves further.

“I really don’t think…” Tobirama murmured more into his own arm than Madara’s shoulder. “I don’t feel good.”

Madara thought of the disgusting puddle of vomit not even a feet away from them and rolled his eyes. That much was obvious but what was he supposed to do? He was no medic, and anxiety urged him to keep moving, to get out of here and find his brother. They would deal with anything else afterward.

But it was distracting – Tobirama on his back and the faintest sensation of Hashirama’s distinct chakra prickling against his skin where Tobirama’s forehead was pressed into the crook of his neck. Mito’s annoying voice also lingered in the back of his mind, doing nothing to calm him.

_“Tell me, Uchiha-san. Why do you lay claim on Hashirama’s brother?”_

( _Did Hashirama know or could he feel it?_ )

* * *

_“Are you even Uzumaki Mito?”_

What a complicated question. And put forward so bluntly. But considering that that man had befriended a more naïve and blustering version of Hashirama ( _what had he done, though, to earn Hashirama’s affection to such an extent that his clan had survived for so many years?_ ), the tactlessness wasn’t completely surprising.

She stared down at her knees where they disappeared into the muddy water – _blended_ into it. Looked back at the blurry face mirrored on the surface, and frowned. Did she still resemble Uzumaki Mito?

There was a soft thud to her right, a familiar scent filled the air around her ( _she had never smelled it this intently, had only caught the faintest of traces of moist earth and sweet chrysanthemums when leaning in close_ ) and her skin flickered in response. _Ah_.

It had been so long.

When she dared to turn her head in his direction, she paused and observed for a silent moment. There was a sharpness to his features and bitter lines she couldn’t remember, both hinting at the stories of years she had lost. He was shocked, that much she could read in the frozen set of his mouth and the brief darkening his eyes. But he had learned to cover his emotions well. ( _It was disconcerting_.)

There was a blob of coldness ( _she couldn’t recollect when she had felt cold last_ ) in her chest, smearing underneath where her heart should be. And she wondered, was it sorrow or resentment? Was it proof for who she once was or against it?

“I didn’t think that it would take you this long to find me.” If his attention hadn’t been diverted, perhaps he would have noticed her appearance sooner.

Hashirama frowned suspiciously. “How are you here?”

“How?” Oh, but _that_ was definitely anger brimming through her, whitening her skin even more. She stretched out her left arm over the vastness of the river. “Isn’t this where you scattered me?” ( _Without remorse, without ever returning, without releasing her eventually._ ) “Or do you mean this?” She withdrew her arm and waved her hand at her body. “Didn’t you know that I could regain my physical form if I fed off enough chakra?”

She hadn’t.

No one had ever come close to this little clearing ( _Senju Butsuma had buried the bodies of those Uchiha children, whom he had initially allowed passage through his territory and then slaughtered, in these waters, and the fear of vengeful spirits kept people away_ ).

And then, one day, an Inuzuka dog had dragged its dying master to her banks, just begging to be swallowed by the current. It had been _glorious_. Being able to move ( _even if she was stuck to this spot_ ), to see, to have chakra obey her will – glorious. But finding a regular fix was exhausting, or it had been until those samurai had come along.

“You grandmother didn’t exactly give me her precious seal willingly,” Hashirama said, voice unaffected. “So, it didn’t come with instructions when I tried it out on you. But you Uzumaki love experimenting and your fuinjutsu, don’t you? You should have enjoyed the whole experience.”

Something reared deep within her, something vicious and ugly, something distracting – she stomped it out before it could get a hold on her, and focused her attention elsewhere: Hashirama’s expression. She didn’t know how to interpret it, couldn’t say what was going through his head; he was completely closed off and she _needed_ to see cracks. ( _Hurt, hurt, hurt, that was all they knew now, wasn’t it? How to hurt._ ) So, she said lowly, “I met your boy.”

It _worked_. ( _Since childhood, it had always been such that if you wanted to reach Hashirama, you had to reach his brothers first. But Tobirama wasn’t-_ )

Hashirama stepped forward, jaw clenched tightly, energy crackling threateningly around him. Not enough, though. Still too controlled. She pushed a little more, let herself smile sweetly, “I considered taking him.”

Tremors wrecked the ground – it was dead, nothing in here lived long, and yet it twitched under the influx of Hashirama’s chakra. Around her, a bed of light violet irises bloomed ( _she used to love these despite being allergic_ ) and they should have been harmless but… With a soundless gasp trapped between her teeth, she lurched forward, hands pressing down against her temples as the chakra emanating from these flowers _scorched_ through her.

( _Worse than the sensation of being burnt when she had tried to pull at Tobirama’s chakra, not immediately realizing that it was entangled with Hashirama’s; she had settled for letting her presence linger in those marking that reeked of death._ )

Could this… kill her?

“Did you now?”

“It would have been counterproductive,” she murmured, forcefully keeping her tone even. “You’re too attached, after all.” ( _And if she had ached to devour Tobirama just to see how much more Hashirama could break – no one needed to know._ )

“That hasn’t stopped you before,” Hashirama said blankly.

And this time – this time, she couldn’t squash out that ugly feeling crushing her. She was standing up without realizing it, ignored the numbness in her legs and the fire licking through her head, and glared. Her face had to be contorted into an unsightly grimace, an action she would have never allowed herself _before_ , but what was decorum and posture worth to someone who had already been grinded into dust?

“I tried to help! I did what you asked, I created that seal for you and I _looked_ but-” She paused, chest heaving and her gaze swimming as memories she had worked hard to lock away tried to bleed into it. ( _Time wasn’t something to be trifled with, why had she been such a fool?_ ) “There was only _one_ time, Hashirama. One in which the world did not crumble under you or your brothers: when you loved your ideals more than them.”

They had had this talk before. But she had just destroyed that very seal Hashirama had put his heart and hopes into, had confessed to it after he had found out about the attempts to alter his memories – of course, he hadn’t been willing to listen. ( _Oh, his face when she had told him, so broken, so betrayed._ )

What else could she have done, though?

Her mind flickered toward Senju Itama and his unnatural ability to control blood and his readiness to bring anyone to heel by robbing them of their autonomy; toward Senju Kawarama and his terrifying military genius and the utter lack of human empathy; ( _and Senju Tobirama whom she hadn’t known about before, who raised the dead and-_ ). Hashirama knew them as innocent, sweet boys, but she had seen them bent worlds to their whims in horrifying ways ( _and she had grown up close to them, had noticed their odd tendencies when interacting with anyone who wasn’t their Anija_ ).

War left its marks on everyone, the possibility of insanity always present – but the real danger laid in those who had the power to express their insanity. Thus, was it so wrong to be glad that Hashirama’s brothers had never grown up?

They didn’t have to, though.

“Your love for them isn’t healthy.” Neither was theirs for him. Neither was the one the Uchiha brothers felt. How ironic that the Senju and Uchiha had this one thing in common. “Look what it did to you!” ( _How it twisted you into a madman_.)

Hashirama snarled furiously, taking another step forward. “They died years ago!”

Her vision was blurring more and more. It hurt, his fury, his killing intent, everything hurt her raw senses. “And yet, you never moved on.” She wasn’t an idiot. Madara had come into his life at the perfect time, the illusion of a brotherhood formed through a shared dream had only prolonged the eventual breaking of Hashirama’s fragile sanity. But the inevitable couldn’t have been avoided.

( _Sometimes she forgot that for all the monsters his brothers had turned into in different times, he was their_ Anija _and nothing less._ )

For a heartbeat, she thought he was going to lash out – hoped he would – but then, his features relaxed all of a sudden. He took a deep breath and moved back and with him, his chakra retreated as well. Her vision cleared, she wasn’t burning anymore. Yet, she couldn’t move, couldn’t feel anything – the traitorous tells of her temporary body about to dissolve. Madara’s original eyes truly didn’t have enough chakra to suffice her.

“Why was Madara here?” he asked, frustratingly composed.

She considered not answering him but… he might leave faster then. “I had something for him.”

He tilted his head curiously. “To help him fight me?”

Ah. He was always quick to catch on, wasn’t he? 

Whether she had helped Madara or not remained to be seen. She didn’t know everything about the rinnegan and had only truly seen it in one timeline ( _it had given her the idea when she had peeked into several dozen worlds and after she had noticed Hashirama’s obvious mental deterioration_ ). But she had used his own chakra ( _gathered painstakingly over months through each of her sessions of_ looking) and Hashirama’s and molded a pair of sharingan her grandmother had acquired for her ( _a gift, she had said, from a group to merchants the Uzumaki had taken into protection_ ) to create those rinnegan.

Back then, it had been nothing but an insurance. She hadn’t believed she would have to use it ( _or had she?_ ).

“Perhaps I’m hoping that the two you will kill each other.”

That would be the kindest outcome for everyone. Madara’s sheer strength might not measure up fully to Hashirama’s but his destructive brotherly devotion certainly did.

Hashirama’s lips twitched upward. ( _She hadn’t seen him smile for so long._ ) He didn’t say anything, though. Just turned away from her, attention set into the direction that Madara and Tobirama had taken off to – a hot wave of desperation washed over her, sudden and violent and wholly unwelcome.

“You’re just leaving?” He didn’t react and was already moving. “Hashirama!”

Was this hurt or was it anger or was it resignation? Of course, he was leaving. ( _He had always dismissed her so easily; it shouldn’t matter._ )

“You could at least-!” She cut herself off, not sure what she wanted. More of his company? Death? Salvation? She wouldn’t _beg_ for those even if she wanted to. But she yearned to know- ( _He had killed her family, eradicated her clan, they were gone so why was she still here? Why was her crime so much worse to him that her punishment wouldn’t end?_ )

In the end, she just watched him leave and let herself fall into the pit of vicious resentment and unending despair that was her existence.

That was all she had. All she _was_.

Only a swamp of the simmering, negative emotions of a woman long gone and her soul split and scattered into the depths of a cursed river.

Uzumaki Mito had died at Hashirama’s hands years ago, after all.

( _He had refused her peace and reduced her to nothing but bitter resentment and accursed memories, but it was fine. What else did you need to unravel a human being?_ )


	14. XIV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to have this done like last week but I've been sick D: Churning this out nevertheless because I'm also sick of sitting on it lol, might revise later. Also, the chapter count is just a rough estimation, there might be more than 2, depending. I'll see, things keep happening as I write, sooo take it (everything, really) with a grain of salt. Also, what's up with the Rich Text option? Annoying :/

Izuna hadn’t agreed to this.

Although, he wasn’t sure what exactly _this_ was, but he couldn’t shake off the sense of utter wrongness picking insistently at his consciousness.

There was scalding heat – as if someone had driven hot iron through his limbs ( _they used to have a smithy long ago, he was very intimate with the unbearable pain of heated metal on skin_ ), then forgotten to take it out and was also unwilling to let it cool down. It was such a disconcerting sensation: there was searing pain in certain places that he couldn't pinpoint, but everything else was numb. As he tried to find his footing in this darkness, he couldn’t even tell _what_ hurt. Was he standing or sitting? Where was his head and where his feet? Where was he sporting wounds?

The last thing Izuna did remember was following that blasted samurai, _Kuroo_ , that fucking asshole, and his Kurama and Yamanaka minions toward a chillingly familiar spot. ( _The fact that they had known about this because that sleazy Yamanaka bastard had picked his memories still aggravated him._ ) There had been restraints of sorts and blood? A lot of pain, words said that he couldn't recollect and – nothing.

Had they actually tried to kill him? Already managed to?

He couldn’t focus long enough to try and figure anything out. His mind was being pulled into different directions by the needles of his own chakra buried into it while their threads were being stretched far and wide. ( _This – his chakra pulling his mind apart as it rebuilt itself elsewhere – this was familiar but usually he had to initiate his body-swapping jutsu first and it never lasted more than half a heartbeat._ )

This utter loss of control over his body and senses coupled with the pain was driving him mad. If there was one thing he absolutely loathed then it was the loss of control. ( _Tobirama claimed that he couldn't deal with that._ ) What the fuck was happening to him?! If this was death, then it was bloody annoying. But how could-

_“…housing an Uchiha child, and that’s not even the worst of it!”_

Stunned, Izuna ceased his internal struggles. The surging wave of frustrated panic threatening to drown him came to an abrupt halt. He tuned in to that scratchy voice that suddenly resounded all around him, curious and dreadful at the same time.

_“You have to go to his home and rectify-”_

_“Rectify what?!”_ And oh. He knew this one, he realized with a spike of anxious confusion. Of course he did; he had fought against Touka for many years and had resided within her long enough to recognize her voice. _“You old crooks should know that conspiring against Hash-”_

 _“We’re not conspiring!”_ If Izuna could and had the patience to, he would have scoffed. How believable. _“But those_ things _! Kami protect us from Hashirama’s madness. Raising the dead?!”_

 _“It wasn’t him, alright?”_ Touka huffed, clearly exasperated. _“The Uchiha did it.”_

A mix of irritation and satisfaction coursed through him at that. He didn’t know how she knew about that, whether that cousin of hers had informed her or whether she had been conscious to see everything unfold herself, but the unease shaking her words was satisfying. Small comforts, right?

 _“Even worse! You didn’t see Hashirama lose control! He could have killed all of us. Do you think it’s a mere coincidence that that happened_ now _?”_

_“You sure are bold just because you think Hashirama can’t hear-”_

A wave of nausea rolled over him as he felt a sharp tug on his consciousness, violent and unrelenting. More voices, lighter and younger ones, flooded through the darkness, reducing the first conversation into static noises at the back of his mind.

_“…mber much of the Pure Lands?”_

Internally, Izuna winced. The words grated against his nerves, chafing them raw, and they were so loud that they had his head ring painfully. Was this a genjutsu of some sort? A torture devise? Fucking hell.

 _“No.”_ A pause, which Izuna acknowledged gratefully, before, _“The baby wasn’t there.”_

_“Yeah, I think... Isn’t it weird, Itama? Do you think that Anija…?”_

_“Maybe, but Kagami said that Tobira… Kawarama-nii-san, what’re you doing?”_

_“…’s chakra's acting weir… -you hear that?”_

Were those Hashirama’s brothers? He hadn’t heard them talk before ( _they had shied away from Aniki and him like spooked animals_ ) but the names. Itama and Kawarama. Were that their names? If he could hear them, did that he was alive or dead? It was hard to make out what they were talking about, though. Kagami? Was that brat with them, somehow? Had he survived? ( _He was the freak's favorite, surely that would please him._ ) What about Tobirama? ( _What was it with these Senju bastards and Tobirama?_ )

Izuna had stored some of his chakra into the boys, similarly to what he had done to Touka but different in its usage… What was this, though? _Where_ was this?

His consciousness was being pulled and stretched raw, he couldn’t feel his own body, it was like dissolving slowly without- and the voices _wouldn’t stop_.

Was his mind disintegrating and scattering into places where remnants of his chakra still existed? ( _There had been a theory, hadn’t there? Somewhere buried among Tobirama’s many notes, probably ashes now, about whether he would die if his body did even if parts pf himself were alive in his summons; but those were dead, as well. Touka and the Senju were not._ )

Was this death, then? Clearly, he wasn’t manifesting into anyone else’s body but his own was unresponsive, even the pain was numbing now. And it was so hard to keep focus, the voices were slowly drifting off as well and silence spreading in their wake.

He was so tired. Nothing made sense, everything was exhausting. He just needed to rest a little, perhaps afterwards...

( _His Aniki wouldn’t be able to take-_ )

* * *

The bitter scent of blood was the first thing his fogged mind registered. It was so intense, so _demanding_ that despite the incessant throbbing in his head he couldn’t stop his eyes from snapping open. The blurriness of his vision was enough to send a fresh wave of nausea washing over him but he couldn’t stop _looking_.

Tobirama had been here, once.

Izuna had dragged him out to this spot. Eager and anxious his twin had been back then like he always was when confronted with something he struggled to deal with. And Tobirama had followed him because he had been so damned worried that Izuna might have gotten himself into one of his messes.

( _“Look, look! There!”_

_Tobirama had, already tired of Izuna’s skittish behavior, only to find Aniki lying on his back close to the streaming river and thoughtfully turning a stone between his fingers. His brother looked relaxed in a way that he hadn’t ever since Yakumi-nii’s cremation. The sight had his chest ache. Before his eyes could start burning as well, he turned toward Izuna who was crouching low on the branch next to him and had another pulled down so he could hide his face behind a veil of colored leaves._

_“Why are you spying on Aniki?”_

_“’cause father said to,” Izuna murmured ruefully. “Do you know whom he meets?”_

_He shouldn’t, Tobirama knew. It was none of his business and Aniki hated others poking their noses where they did not belong. But everyone had noticed how often Aniki snuck out of the compound for hours and always returned in a better mood; he was curious. “Whom?”_

_“A dumb looking boy.” Izuna paused and grimaced as if he had swallowed something especially foul. “A_ Senju _!”_

_Oh. “But…” Tobirama felt his throat close up with dread. That didn’t make any sense. The Senju were the enemies, they had killed their brothers and mother and countless other clan and family members! Why would Aniki willingly associate with one of them? He certainly had never shown any indication of being sympathetic toward their most bitter enemies. How could a Senju make Aniki this happy? Then, another thought stirred its head and Tobirama reached for Izuna’s elbow, squeezing it in his sudden panic. “You can’t tell father!”_

_If Izuna was right then this was treason. And although, Aniki was strong and the clan’s pride, although he was father’s favorite, the charges for treason were unforgiving. Everyone would hound him._

_“I’m not stupid!” Izuna hissed furiously and ripped himself out of Tobirama’s grip, letting go of his leaf branch in the same instant, uncaring of the ensuring rustle. “But what if that Senju does anything? He could hurt Aniki.”_

_As if summoned by Izuna, another presence, still far but steering into their direction, nudged at Tobirama’s mind; warm and sweet with a strongly lingering sadness underneath._

_Without another thought, Tobirama leaped away, ignoring his twin’s betrayed gaze searing into his back. Aniki was strong and he could handle himself, he wouldn’t spent time with someone dangerous. But if he ever found out that they had been spying on him…_

_Tobirama wasn’t Izuna. There would be no respite for him. There never was_.)

His left hand had slid down Aniki’s chest. Aniki’s heart was beating furiously against the tips of his fingers. Too fast, too erratic. Tobirama could feel each beat vibrating through his own body like a terrible foreboding. It was _wrong_. Was his own just as much out of rhythm? Could Aniki hear it?

It was easy to focus on the bitter memories lingering in this place, on the sickening smell of blood or to be distracted by Aniki’s palpable terror – all of this was easy.

Forcing himself to _see_ what had been so obviously set up for them was not.

If he hadn’t already thrown up the contents of his stomach earlier, he would have done so now. Instead, his feet found soft ground and he clung to his brother’s back ( _whether for his own sake or Aniki’s, he wasn’t sure_ ), face pressed between tensed shoulder blades.

Through the darkness that settled over his vision, as if someone had ripped off the cover over a valuable painting, an image flared to life despite his efforts to squash it out. ( _His sharingan. He never consciously realized when his sharingan activated, didn’t feel the swirl of hot chakra that he could sense in everyone else; only after, once the pain and bleeding set in…_ )

Far from the banks of the Nakano, there was Izuna.

Buried underneath thick layers of colorful leaves and moss, body stretched impossibly wide ( _so, so fragile, so, so wrong_ ), arms bound by vines at a painful angle behind his back, branches pierced through his shoulders and abdomen and thighs and throat-

Reeking of earth and chrysanthemums and blood and dirt-

Face sickly pale where there was no blood decorating-

Izuna. Deathly still. Bloodied. Morbidly wrapped up like a gift. It was Izuna.

Tobirama couldn’t pick up on any shred of chakra.

( _Izuna’s wasn’t as explosive as Aniki’s but always warm and brimming full of life and mischief and bad ideas._ )

Unbidden, Tobirama’s mind snapped back toward a red-haired women and her equally red-haired people, unable to escape certain death in the form of Hashirama’s flora. They hadn’t been handled with such morbid care, hadn’t been made into spectacles post death, and yet… ( _Hashirama couldn’t have, though. Could he?_ )

Aniki shrugged him off without a word and stumbled forward. His gait was unsteady and legs trembling; he looked small in a way that had Tobirama choke back the bubble of anguish swelling in his throat.

His brother’s chakra was terrifyingly still.

Tobirama didn’t understand what was happening. Hashirama _needed_ Izuna. And Izuna, he… he wasn’t – _this_. Unmoving, silent, not reacting to Aniki’s approach – that wasn’t Izuna, no. Not his difficult twin who couldn't remain still for long, always full of energy and the urge to do things, always eager to receive Aniki's attentions and lessen Aniki's worries. There were hard feelings and resentment on Izuna’s end for him, he knew that well, but no one knew Izuna as well as he did and vice versa. ( _He was too clever to get himself killed like this, he-_ )

Something warm and wet slid down his cheeks and he didn’t dare check whether it were tears or blood.

He watched, unable not to. Watched as Aniki clawed at the plants with his bare hands, watched as Aniki reached for Izuna’s face, a litany of his name flowing out of his mouth and wrapping itself around Tobirama’s already too tight lungs, watched as the vines and leaves were cut by nothing more than Aniki’s chakra, now taught and sharp with desperations, watched as Izuna slumped into an awaiting embrace, _watchedwatchedwatched_ -

Izuna couldn’t be dead.

( _Hashirama needed him._

_Aniki needed him._

_And Tobirama… they had been each other’s first brothers. They were_ twins _. Live together, die together, shouldn't it be like that?_ )

* * *

Over the years, Madara had dreaded losing Izuna too many times to count.

He had pictured it ( _it was unavoidable once the others started to die one after another… was he a horrible brother for having felt a twinge of relief over each new pyre, even through his grief addled mind, that it hadn’t been Izuna?_ ) so often and so vividly that sometimes, he couldn’t keep reality ( _that other accursed life_ ) and nightmares apart.

In none of those fucking imaginations had he _not been present_ when-

( _Izuna had been in so much pain for days after Tobirama had struck him down. Madara had stayed at his side, sitting vigil until the end and beyond, watched his brother, proud and stubborn and strong Izuna, pitifully wither away in bed – Izuna’s death hadn’t been swift, hadn’t been merciful or painless. It had been nothing but a series of suffering, every breath a struggle and every waking moment drenched in helpless rage. A death he had never wanted for himself, not like this; at some point he had even begged Madara to end it faster._

_Madara had seen it through the eyes of another him like a fading dream and yet, he had never felt as close to madness as when reliving Izuna’s last moments._

_But Madara had been_ there _, then_.)

Izuna’s weight was crushing his chest.

Madara felt blood and ripped pieces of vines under his nails and couldn’t bring himself to completely engulf Izuna. Was Izuna breathing? Was he alive? Could he be? _Fuck_ , he had these fucking eyes now but couldn’t even bring himself to see whether his brother was still alive. Pathetic.

( _He couldn’t see Izuna’s chakra, there was only this pool of dark and rotten energy and he knew it meant-_ )

But Izuna… wasn’t warm, not exactly, but neither was he cold. As if he hadn’t been hanging here for that long, and that realization wound itself around his throat and pressed down on his windpipe like a vicious snake trying to choke him. Could Madara have prevented this if he hadn’t gotten distracted by Mito? If he hadn’t had to drag extra weight with him? _How_ late had he been?

“Aniki?”

( _“-iece with those-! Aniki, promise me, I need you to promise me, you can’t make peace over my dead body. Aniki!”_ )

There was a tug and Izuna shifted against him abruptly. Madara’s chakra crackled in retaliation, furious and desperate in equal measures. There was a startled hiss to his right, another jolt pressed Izuna’s face into his sternum, white flashing to his right. He stared, transfixed, at two pale palms held up defensively, one of them charred where it connected to the wrist. ( _They had been drenched in so much of Izuna’s blood, and its metallic scent never completely left those hands; Madara would know_.)

The surprise quickly drained out of Tobirama’s features, making room for a grim determination he wasn’t used to from that boy. “Let me check him over, Aniki. Maybe-”

“Don’t. Touch. Him.” _Don’tdon’tdon’tdon’t_.

“I-I need to,” Tobirama pressed on, the obvious waver in his voice a stark contrast to his steady posture. “Or you do it.”

Do what, exactly? Confirm the death? Determine the cause? Both of which were so obvious it hurt to think about. ( _He had sat next to Izuna’s body for hours after knowing that his brother had passed. Hours of not daring to check or confirm, not accepting the knowledge, waiting for Izuna to wake up like he had done the days before; broken but alive._ )

His heart stuttered and with it, something sharp shifted in the back of his throat.

Tobirama’s face contorted into a grimace of anguish and frustration, the thick tracks of blood Madara was noticing on his cheeks just now and those twisting tomoes in eyes he never should have had making the picture of his appearance more grotesque. Ironic how _he_ looked like the walking dead and yet, _Izuna_ was the one not stirring anymore.

The traces of Hashirama’s disgusting chakra flickering around Tobirama like a swarm of yellow-greenish fireflies, bright and taunting and sickening, had his stomach turn with revulsion. ( _And oh, resentment, unmuted and inhibited resentment._ ) “Didn’t you say that Hashirama wouldn’t harm him?”

Tobirama’s right foot twitched backward, creating more distance between them all of a sudden. He pressed one of his arms tightly against his side and gripped it with his other hand enough that his knuckles turned white. “I… I don’t… his brothers!” he said helplessly. “He needs Izuna for them. He wouldn’t…”

 _Needs Izuna for them_ , as if his little brother’s worth was determined by those monstrosities Hashirama was keeping close. Madara couldn’t help it – he laughed mirthlessly, the sound needling painfully through his vocal chords. He couldn’t hear his own thoughts anymore, there was only white noise. Perhaps this was what going insane truly was like. “And yet, here he is. _Dead_!”

The boy had the nerve to flinch ( _as if he hadn’t killed Izuna once himself without remorse_ ) before catching himself. “But he’s not even here! I can’t feel him anywhere!”

As if Hashirama needed to be present. As if anyone else could have concocted such a morbid scene. How dare- “You’re awfully eager to defend that bastard, aren’t you?”

He could have denied it, could have rationalized his actions, but Tobirama was eerily quiet and it only fanned Madara’s ire because he _saw_ and the revelation lit his blood on fire. ( _Tobirama had always been too loyal, too devoted to and had too much faith in Hashirama; it hadn’t been normal, not when they had been brothers and definitely not now._ )

Madara blinked at his outstretched hand, at the lightning culminated on the palm, unsure what he had wanted to do with it and even more confused why his whole body had come to a staggering halt. Then, he noticed it in the same instance that Tobirama jerked to the side in surprise.

The chakra paths around him were brighter now, more lively, more _demanding_.

Hashirama didn’t make any noise when landing not far from where they had been standing moments ago but the energy underneath the earth rippled in delight, loud enough to catch attention. Tobirama’s expression morphed into one of surprised apprehension; he wasn’t alarmed, though.

Carefully, Madara maneuvered Izuna to lie with his back on the ground. He never let his gaze wander further up than the shoulders even though the red flooding his vision, more intensely the longer the stared, had his head spin dizzyingly. Izuna’s chest wasn’t rising.

No one did anything for several heartbeats, even the wind around them seemed to have stilled. Until, “Is he _dead_?”

Thunder roared over his head, its echo sizzling through his veins and into the tips of his fingers. Madara didn’t jump to his feet ( _his legs would have folded under him_ ), didn’t turn fully around – his twisted his torso, ignored his hips aching in protest and swung his right arm out like a whip. Crackling lightning followed the motion so fast that even he barely saw it. Hashirama jerked to the side but not enough to avoid being grazed; there was a charred patch of skin right under his left eye that he was touching in genuine surprise. ( _When was the last time Madara had truly posed a threat while Hashirama had been completely focused?_ )

His own skin was tingling but not unpleasantly so. He couldn’t feel the familiar throbbing in his muscles whenever he used his raijin, neither was the tree his whip had hit bursting into black flames.

Madara felt free. The power thrumming through his bones was exhilarating.

“I see,” Hashirama murmured. “Mito gave you a new pair of eyes. You feel… different.” Yet, although he was saying that, even sounding a touch impressed, his gaze trailed toward Tobirama, clearly softening. “Found you.”

“You disgusting piece of shit,” Madara growled, voice shaking as much as his body with unbridled fury. There was no hint of discomfort in Hashirama’s features, not any indication that his own little brothers might be dead again, and Madara wasn’t sure when this man had become so good at hiding himself away. Unless he had found a way to keep his brothers alive while getting rid of Izuna… “At least, look at me!” _Stop staring at that fucking brat_.

Hashirama did and oh – was that amusement curling around his lips? “You’re _grieving_ , Madara. I’m not sure if I am heartless enough to take advantage of that.”

 _Fucking asshole_. Grief – negative emotions connected to tragedies befalling loved ones – was the very foundation of any Uchiha’s power. That blubbering idiot certainly had learned the language of taunts well.

“Then don’t,” Madara hissed. Another thunder crackled over their heads, but this time Hashirama had no problems letting himself fall to the side and avoiding being roasted by a bolt. Madara’s blood sung with agitation. “Stay still and _let me_ take advantage!”

“You’re faster,” Hashirama commented thoughtfully. “But is that all?”

Madara didn’t know. All he had was a vague idea put together by memories and instinct; he could feel the bottomless depth of energy simmering within himself, could see Hashirama’s chakra so vividly it was off-putting – he would know when Hashirama might ready himself to attack, though – his reflexes were quicker… yet surely, there had to be _more_. He just couldn’t focus, couldn’t muster up the needed patience to explore the rinnegan- _what was the use_?!

Hashirama observed him with an unnerving intensity although he didn’t actually have the man’s full attention – it lingered on Tobirama without Hashirama breaking his gaze from Madara, and it had his skin crawl with disgust. The bastard had _murdered_ Izuna. Where was the acknowledgement? ( _Didn’t his brother deserve that much?_ ) Why wasn’t he doing anything now? He wouldn’t even bother himself with Madara if not for the threat of an attack, but was tuned in to Tobirama as if it was second nature to him.

( _The other Hashirama hadn’t been a negligent brother, per se, but he had put many a things over Tobirama, much to Madara’s astonishment_.)

“Say, Madara,” Hashirama murmured, head cocked to the side mockingly as he regarded him. “Your clan is basically extinct. Your precious brother is dead. Why are _you_ still alive?”

( _“This isn’t meant to be disrespectful, Madara-sama. But you know as well as any of us that if our grief spills over without any means of control, we need to end it. You’re our leader but unable to function as such; you should have already made the decision to join your brother by yourself.”_ )

A haze settled over Madara’s vision.

“Aniki! You-”

Madara’s head snapped around, a feral snarl on his lips.

Tobirama was sitting right behind him – he hadn’t noticed – with Izuna’s head in his lap. His gaze snapped down toward those hands clutching his brother’s chest ( _drenched in Izuna’s blood, so much of it_ ). He barely registered the horror distorting Tobirama’s face before the boy was swiped away with a flick of Madara’s erratic chakra.

“I told you,” he growled furiously, “not to touch him!”

Tobirama would have hit a displaced rock if not for a bush sprouting out of nowhere to dampen his fall. Madara stared blankly, nerves flipping uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach.

This time when Hashirama spoke, there was nothing humorous or light to his tone, “For someone so obsessed with one brother, you sure don’t care for the other.”

“And you,” Madara said as he stood up slowly, “sure care too much for someone who’s _not_ your brother.” Hashirama scowled at that. “Want to elaborate on that? Or have you just developed a _taste_ for younger boys?”

Hashirama opened his mouth as if to retort, features scrunched up in confused displeasure, but instead he turned toward Tobirama who was picking himself up carefully. The blood tracks on his cheeks had smeared all over his face and there were green leaves and twigs in his hair. And Hashirama’s stupid chakra particles bouncing around him like fussing mother hens.

“I really don’t understand why you wanted to return to _that_ ,” Hashirama huffed. “What exactly could they have given you that I wouldn’t? Your _brother_ doesn’t seem to give a damn about you.”

“He’s grieving,” Tobirama muttered tightly without looking at either of them, and the words seared through Madara like acid. Why did they keep saying _grieving_ as if that was something pitiful?!

“Has he been grieving all of his life?" Hashirama asked drily.

Tobirama did look at Hashirama now, lips twisting as if unsure what to do, eyebrows furrowed. “Did you kill everyone?”

 _Still doubting?_ Madara’s hands curled into trembling fists at his side. What was _wrong_ with that boy?

Hashirama paused and lifted one shoulder into a half-shrug. “I would have, eventually. But hm, seems like someone else was faster.”

But there was no one who wanted the Uchiha dead as much as Hashirama. Someone not affiliated with him wouldn't have had any fucking reason. _Liar_.

“And Izuna?” Tobirama pressed on. Madara loathed the sound of his brother’s name coming from him.

“What do you think?” Hashirama countered, voice shamelessly gentle. “I’ve come from the compound straight for you. And I’m definitely not leaving without you.”

_Liarliarliarliarliarlairl-_

But Tobirama believed him, Madara could see it in the way his facial muscles relaxed and the tension left his shoulders, in the way his flickering eyes softened ever so slightly. A sudden, terrifying clarity cut through his haze and settled over his senses. It didn’t matter what world they lived in, what atrocities Hashirama committed, how much grief he rained upon them – Tobirama would always be weak for that bastard, wouldn’t he? ( _For Izuna’s murderer, but then again he had been that once too._ ).

He would... leave. With Hashirama. Despite everything, despite Izuna’s loss ( _did that truly mean anything to him?_ ), if given the chance…

Madara had lost every single one of his brothers, and the only one that had remained? Someone who had been born into his family due to some sick joke the kami allowed themselves ( _a freak accident, nothing else that birth could have been_ ). Tobirama was all he had left and that boy wasn’t even his bloody brother, was he?

( _But Hashirama’s._

 _And Hashirama was_ obsessed _._ )

“Fuck you,” Madara hissed to no one and both of them and himself at the same time. Tobirama was all he had left and he refused- ( _“Kill yourself or your brother.”_ )

Tobirama’s gaze flickered toward him, hesitant and confused, before it settled on Izuna and overflew with agony. As id he had any right to it after that pathetic display.

( _He had glanced over for a moment when Hashirama fell back to catch his breath; saw Tobirama rush past Izuna, saw blood splattering everywhere, his brother folding, and his world came to a screeching halt-_

_“Don’t forgive that Senju bastard,” Izuna wheezed through a gaggle of blood, eyes unfocused and wild-_

_“Where’s Izuna?” that Demon asked, and Madara-_

_“It’s easy for you, Hashirama. You’ve still got your fucking brother!”_ )

In his periphery, Izuna still laid unmoving.

Energy thundered warningly through the sky. A whoosh of wind, loaded and sizzling, cut through the air.

He savored the surprise morphing into horror on Hashirama’s face, relished the way the bastard’s chakra ignited in sudden panic. But Hashirama wasn’t fast enough, didn’t even twitch when Madara had already flicked his wrist – lightning travelling from his shoulder to his arm into his fore- and middle finger and erupting into a bolt aimed straight toward Tobirama’s chest where most of Hashirama’s chakra particles had culminated.

Everything happened in under a heartbeat.

( _And if there was hurt that wasn’t related to pain in those dysfunctional eyes… he wouldn’t linger on it._ )

Even before that beat faded, Madara found himself abruptly wrenched to the ground.

“-i, what the fuck are you doing?!”

( _“It was a sparring mishap, Nii-san. Surely…” Yakumi trailed off nervously when Madara’s warning glare didn’t lose its intensity. Unhappily, he stepped out of the way and winced when Tobirama’s hands instinctively tried to keep him in front of him._

_._

_“Isn’t it enough?” When Madara looked up, Yakumi indicated toward where Izuna was picking listlessly at his food, isolated from the rest of them. For a moment, Madara’s gaze softened. Then, it fell on Tobirama’s still bandaged hands and the chopsticks he himself was feeding him with, and it hardened with resolve. Clearly, Izuna’s punishment wouldn’t end until he had learned that his pranks had limits._ )


End file.
